


A Truth Universally Acknowledged

by sheyrenawyrsabane



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, D-man!Geno, Goalie!Sid, M/M, The more things change the more they stay the same, Winger!Flower, goalies bonds are strengthened by cheesecake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheyrenawyrsabane/pseuds/sheyrenawyrsabane
Summary: Sidney Crosby is a franchise goaltender but after a series of disappointing seasons and a new coach that brings with him a goalie from the minors, is Sid's time in Pittsburgh coming to an end?The one where Sid has always been a goalie, Geno has always been a d-man, and despite being a winger, Flower still pets the goal posts.





	A Truth Universally Acknowledged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theminiummark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theminiummark/gifts).



It’s no secret that the 2014-2015 Pittsburgh Penguins were a disappointment, and Sidney takes as much of the blame for it as he can. He was the one who couldn’t make the stops they needed against the Rangers in the first round. He’s the one who squared off against the King and fell short.

In a petty moment in the handshake line, Sidney met Lundqvist’s gaze head on and thought  _ I may have lost this series but at least I’ve won a Cup before _ . He hated himself as soon as he had it and made sure to smile and pull the opposing goalie in for a half-hug, half-backslap. 

Lundqvist gave him a funny look before he moved on. Apparently Sidney crossed the weirdness threshold, impressive given that goalies have almost unlimited rein in that regard. 

But this is a fresh season and Sidney’s rested after the summer and ready to make this one a winning one. Their Cup in 2009 seems so long ago now. He wants to lift the Cup again, wants to do it with all the new guys who weren’t here the first first time and again with the old guys, the core group that have stuck through this tough stretch of years.

His optimism lasts until the first day of practice.

He will never tell anyone, but Coach Johnston has somehow made hockey  _ boring _ . Sid spends games in his net, both hoping to have something to do and hoping that his team stays in the offensive zone the whole time. It means he watches a lot of hockey, and he knows his team better than anyone. 

Johnston’s taken the spark that makes the Penguins  _ the Penguins _ and snuffed it out. Tazer has never met a challenge he hasn’t risen to so he accepted Johnston’s word as gospel and thrown himself into it 100%. Geno’s lost his creativity and Flower’s lost his smile, and Sidney kind of hates watching his team play now. 

This isn’t what they’re supposed to be.

#

“Fucking fuck!” Flower exclaims, kicking his shoes off in the mud room. He glares at them before straightening then against the wall. 

Sidney unties his carefully and lines them up next to Flower’s. “It’s not that bad.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me. Your mask doesn’t hide what you’re thinking. This is bullshit. Didn’t we learn that last year?”

Sidney follows Flower into the kitchen and listens to him rant. Flower was drafted two years before him, the first overall pick by a struggling franchise. He played in Wilkes Barre his first season then again during the lockout. He and Sid were rookies together, and they shared an apartment and quietly freaked out about playing with  _ Mario Lemieux _ .

Flower scored his first NHL goal off a beautiful feed from their captain. Sidney’s yet to score his first goal, and it won’t be off a pass from Lemieux, but he’ll still cherish it. Of course, right now, with the way  _ no one _ can put the puck in the net, Sidney isn’t focused on scoring. All his focus is keeping the puck out of his own net. 

“We had a good regular season,” Sidney says.

It’s the playoffs where it all fell apart. He had such high hopes for last season too. It was two seasons ago that a Kreider knee to the head left him facedown on the ice then, out of commision for months, as he struggled with a concussion. He was cleared to play only for a run by Lucic to put him back on IR. 

Greiss did his best, but they barely squeaked into the playoffs and had an early exit. Last season, Sidney was healthy and ready for  _ this  _ to be the season. He played a personal-high of 77 regular season games, which put him in company with Martin Brodeur and Evgeny Nabokov which isn’t a bad place to be. Then he played 11 playoff games. He was so fucking tired by Game 7 against the Capitals but no way in hell was he letting Ovechkin advance to the second round.

Being swept by the Rangers sucked, and Sid’s really fucking tired of losing to them, but it was better than losing to Ovechkin. When he told Geno this at the get-drunk-and-cry party, Geno just patted his head and handed him another drink.

But Sidney had an entire season’s worth of highlights in their seven games against Washington then it was like he forgot how to goaltend against the Rangers. Johnston even pulled him in Game 3 but Greiss was even more of a disaster and Sid was back in goal for Game 4. Not that it mattered.

Tazer said all the right things to him and Johnston did too in his awkward sort of way, but Sidney knows the truth. He won the Washington series fueled on willpower alone. He could’ve done it against the Rangers if he was mentally stronger. But he wasn’t. He gave up and let his team down.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by a stinging in his cheek. He touches his face then glares at Flower. “Did you just slap me?”

“You were doing the face again.” Flower twists his face into a grotesque imitation of Sid’s. “The Rangers series wasn’t your fault. We couldn’t score a fucking goal.”

“And I couldn’t keep them out when it mattered.”

Flower drapes an arm over Sid’s shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. “Do I need to call G over here and have him smack some sense into you?”

Sid wriggles away. “You’re the only one who’s smacked me. Geno would never. And he’d probably put you on your ass if I told him you hit me.”

Geno was the second pick of his draft, a d-man who Washington supposedly passed on because he was too gangly. Jokes on them, because he’s consistently one of the top defensemen in the League. He has the speed to break up other team’s odd man rushes and he has the hands of a forward, able to score gorgeous goals when the team needs them.

Well, not recently. Part of Johnston’s changes has been making their defensemen more defensively minded. Both Geno and Tanger haven’t adapted gracefully. 

“I could take him,” Flower says confidently, but he doesn’t look so sure.

Sidney laughs. Geno’s notoriously overprotective of Sidney. Bylsma tried to rein him in when he racked up penalty minutes at an alarming rate for a top pairing D and Geno infamously fought Craig Adams last year in practice when he thought he bumped Sidney too hard. In Geno’s marginal defense, Sid had just come back from his first concussion, and everyone was on a hair trigger about his head. 

“Things will get better,” Sidney says confidently.

#

They drop their first three games then win their next three. Sidney’s given the night off against Dallas, and Zatkoff lets in six goals in a period and a half. Johnston looks down the bench then looks at the scoreboard and apparently decides that putting Sid in won’t make a difference. Zatkoff lets in another two before the game is over. 

He’s the first one off the ice and goes straight down the tunnel as their home crowd heckles him. Sid follows him down. He doesn’t try to talk to him, not yet, just sits next to him in the locker room and glares at anyone who comes too close. 

He’s always had a tough time with his goalie partners. In midget then juniors and even the Penguins, he came in, already labeled as The Guy. All it took was one game, and he made his case for why he should be the starter. The guys he supplanted never liked it, and he doesn’t blame them even if he wasn’t going to play worse to cater to their feelings.

Things changed after his third season with the Penguins. Once he backed them to the Cup, management traded the veteran goalie they kept as back-up  _ just in case _ . Sidney was The Guy. Now his back-ups were true back-ups not guys who felt as if the starting position should be theirs. But that came with its own challenges. There’s no future in Pittsburgh for a back-up goaltender. Until Sidney falters, the position is his.

It means he knows he won’t keep his back-ups for long and they know that no matter how well they play it doesn’t matter. On the flipside, it means even if they don’t play well they won’t be immediately run out of town, but he has more tact than to say that. 

They sit shoulder-to-shoulder until Zatkoff finally breathes out, deeply enough to release the tension in his shoulders. 

“Cool down then shower,” Sidney says.

“I should talk to the media.”

Sidney glances around the room. Tazer gives him the subtlest of nods. “Tazer and Phil can handle it. We have to take advantage of Phil’s shininess.”

“You would face the media after a game like that.”

_ Because I know I’d have the chance to redeem myself the next night. Because I know that tonight’s loss wasn’t on me. You don’t have thick enough skin for that yet.  _ One of the downsides to Johnston’s system is that their puck possession numbers have plummeted and every minute they don’t have possession means a minute they could be scored on. 

Dallas won 3-0 when Sidney was in net to open the season. And now they’ve won 8-2 with Zatkoff there. Would the score been quite as lopsided if Sid was in net? Probably not. But there’s no guarantee that they would’ve won. 

He doesn’t say that either. 

He leads Zatkoff to the weight room and rolls out yoga mats so they can stretch. Sid waits, using the patience he’s learned from years of goaltending, to hold out until Zatkoff says something.

“That fucking sucked.”

“There’s only so much you can do when the team hangs you out to dry.”

“You never blame the team.”

“Not in front of the media.” He’s the goalie which means he’s the last line of defense, on the ice and off it. The media won’t get a story or a hint of discord from him. But in his head? He definitely gets pissed sometimes. And there’s more than one clip of him yelling at Geno or Tanger or even Flower when they need to step it the fuck up. “It’s okay to be frustrated.”

“I’m doing everything Bales says to do, but I feel like I should be reacting to what we’re doing instead. But then I’m not playing the ‘right’ way.”

“We can only work on our side of things and trust the rest of the coaching staff to work with the team on their side.”

Zatkoff sighs and shifts into a deeper stretch. “It’s shitty.”

“It’ll get better.”

It has to.

#

Sid plays the next seven games including two sets of back-to-backs. They win all but the very last one, a 2-5 loss to the Flames. 

“Do you think it’s too heavy a workload?” he’s asked after the game.

Sidney sits up taller to hide the slump in his shoulders. “I’m equal to the task. I played a lot of games last season so the coaching staff knows I can do it. And, honestly, after losing so much of my season two years ago, I want to play. Obviously, I expect more out of myself than tonight’s game. I’ll be better in my next start.”

“And better rested?”

Sid ignores the jab. 

Still, as soon as they’re on the plane, he takes his seat next to Flower and pulls his sleep mask on.

#

They have a long break between Calgary and Montreal, but Johnston gives the start to Zatkoff anyway. They find out at practice the day before, and Sid claps Zatkoff on the shoulder. 

“You’ll be great,” Sidney tells him, confident.

“Oh yeah, me against Carey Price, the goalie match-up everyone was looking for.”

“We’re getting cheesecake after the game,” Sidney says. “You’re not allowed to argue.”

“Should’ve made  _ you _ the captain,” Zatkoff mutters.

#

After practice, Sidney dodges everyone’s invites for lunch or video games and goes home. He lives in a too big house that he bought when Flower and Vero found out that she was pregnant. Tanger likes to joke that they gave up one kid for another. Everyone agrees that Estelle is much cuter than Sidney. 

Flower told him he could stay, but it felt too much like intruding so Sid bought a house with more rooms that he could ever need. He likes having a place of his own, somewhere he can retreat to when everything is too loud or too much. It had been a blessing when he was concussed even if he constantly had concerned teammates stopping by.

Today, he checks on the Crockpot then makes himself a shake to drink while standing on his back patio. The weather’s still nice, warm but with a breeze that keeps it from being stifling. Maybe he’ll grill tonight. 

He’s staring at his backyard and the small garden he keeps when he hears the door behind him click open. If he didn’t live in a private neighborhood then he’d be worried. Instead, it’s a question of which teammate has followed him home. 

“Bad to hermit, Sid.”

Geno then. He would’ve been Sidney’s first guess. He was the first person to have a key to Sidney’s house, and he misuses it. He shows up with takeout or candles that are supposed to help with headaches and...okay, Geno’s always welcome here. There’s a reason he still has his key.

“Hey, G.” Sidney doesn’t turn around which Geno takes as an invitation to drape his arms over Sidney’s shoulders and pull him backwards into a odd version of a hug. “I’m not hermiting. I’m a goalie. I’m used to being on my own.”

Geno scoffs. “Always your excuse.”

“I spend most of the game on my own.” Recently, not as much as he should, but he knows better than to bring that up now. Geno will take it personally and it’s always a toss-up whether that will lead to the kind of breathtaking play Sid’s fallen in love with or an obscene number of penalty minutes. 

“What happens at the end of the game, Sid?”

Sidney rolls his eyes.

When he doesn’t answer, Geno pokes his stomach. “What happens at the end? We all find you, yes? We bring the team to you.”

“Yeah.” Helmet taps and shoulder pats, a gluttony of touch to make up for how isolated he is during the rest of the game. “Is that what you’re doing now?”

“Didn’t bring whole team. Just me. Have you had lunch yet?”

Sidney laughs at Geno’s predictability. “I’ll feed you. I was thinking of grilling for dinner if you want to stay for that too?”

“Two meals?” Geno nuzzles the back of Sid’s hair. “I must be the most special. Hair smells nice. New shampoo?”

“You’re such a weirdo.” Sid twists away from him and heads back inside to check on lunch.

His back feels cold once Geno’s not pressed up against it. When Geno first came to the Penguins, a gangly defenseman with limited English, Sidney didn’t realize how much trouble he’d be. Then they played their first game against the Flyers.

Forsberg decided to make a nuisance of himself in front of Sid’s goal and one minute he was in Sid’s face and the next he was on his ass, Geno looming over him. 

“My goalie,” Geno said. “Always protect.”

And he has ever since. 

There’s always been something between them, lingering touches and looks that last longer than they should. From the outside, it can pass a goalie and their d-man even if Sid doesn’t let any of his other d-men do the things Geno does. They’ve never pushed it beyond where they are now. 

He looks over his shoulder. Geno comes in from the patio and closes the French doors behind him. He’s still carrying his summer bulk and while he’ll never be a  _ big _ defenseman, he looks good, healthy and happy. It’s much better than when they parted ways for the summer, Geno playoff skinny and still carrying the loss on his shoulders.

He catches Sid staring and grins, his whole face transforming with the smile. Sid’s helpless to do anything but smile back.

“What you make me for lunch?” 

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I’m kicking you out.”

Geno laughs. “Never. I’m your favorite.”

“I don’t have favorites.”

Geno’s close enough to pull Sid in for a hug again. He leans in to whisper, “Liar,” and Sid shivers as Geno’s breath ghosts across his ear. Geno leaves where Sid is to poke his nose into the Crockpot. “Borscht?” he asks. His grin is back. “I’m favorite.”

“Beets are very nutritious,” Sidney says as if he wasn’t planning to freeze what he didn’t eat for lunch to bring to Geno. 

“Of course.” His tone is solemn but Geno’s eyes sparkle.

It’s a battle Sid can’t win so he dishes them both up some borscht and they sit together at his island. As always, Geno’s first bite is cautious then he hums, pleased and surprised, and dives right in. 

After lunch, Sid takes a blanket off the couch and brings it outside where his deck loungers are still out. He stretches out on one of them and turns his face up towards the sky. 

“Like plant, Sid,” Geno teases.

“Laugh later. Nap now.”

Geno climbs into Sid’s chair with him. The chair groans but holds their weight.

“What are you doing?”

Geno tugs at Sid’s blanket until he can cover himself with it. “Didn’t offer me blanket, Sid. Most rude.”

“You know where I keep them!”

Geno just hums and wraps an arm around Sid’s waist. “Hush. Nap.”

Sid grumbles but it’s easy to get comfortable again, even with Geno this close to him. 

#

When he wakes up, Geno’s arm is wrapped even tighter around his waist as if he was afraid Sid would fall off the chair. Sid pats the back of Geno’s hand then lifts his arm up so he can stand up.

“Where you go?” Geno asks, his voice sleepy and almost whiny. 

“To get a book. I shouldn’t sleep anymore.”

Against his better judgement, Sid squishes himself back into the chair with Geno. He opens his book, some mystery thriller he hasn’t had the time for with the start of the season. Geno opens his phone to browse his social media then play some games.

It’s a pleasant way to spend an afternoon. 

#

Sidney doesn’t know if he was drawn to being a goalie because he’s self-contained or if he’s grown more self-contained because of how long he’s played goalie for. Either way, it’s no surprise that his closest friends are ones who have sought him out; Flower and Geno, Army when he was with the team. 

Teammates are easier than friends. He knows where the boundaries are and knows what’s expected of him. It’s easy to plop his baseball cap on his head and give Zatkoff a pep talk then move through the locker room, reminding the d-men to play well in front of Zatkoff and reminding the forwards to score a lot of support goals.

He pauses in front of Tazer. His captain raises his eyebrows, expectant. “Well, Croz? Are you going to tell me we better win this for Tishy or else?” 

And yeah, maybe Sid became friends with Flower and Geno first, because they were relentless in their invitations, but he and Tazer understand each other. They can watch game tape for hours without getting bored and while Sid tells Kessel, “Let’s see that speed down the wing, eh?” and means  _ score _ , he doesn’t have to dance around it with Tazer.

Sid grins. “You better win this for Tishy.”

Tazer laughs and smacks the brim of Sid’s hat down so it covers his eyes. 

#

Duper scores thirteen seconds into the game off a play set up by the hard work of Tazer and the hustle of Bennett. Sidney cheers from his seat at the end of the bench.  _ This  _ is exactly what he wanted to see from the team.

Markov scores on the power play, but Pittsburgh manages another goal before the period is over so they head into the intermission up by one.

“Fucking Markov,” Zatkoff mutters. 

It was a bad penalty by Geno then there were a couple failed clearing attempts and in the scramble by Pittsburgh’s defense, Markov loaded up a shot and blasted the puck past Zatkoff. 

“You were solid this period. That post-to-post to save a goal in the closing minutes was awesome.”

Zatkoff shrugs but he looks pleased. “Less pressure when it’s Condon in the other net.”

“It’s not Condon who’s trying to score on you. How’s Gallagher? Still a pain in the ass?”

“Ugh.” Zatkoff slants a look across the locker room to where Geno’s poking at Tanger. “Think if I mention something near G then he’ll take care of the pest?”

“Only if you want to be on the PK again.” Sid laughs. “Next time tell him he should wear lifts in his skates if he wants to be tall enough to actually be a bother.”

“Short jokes?”

Sid shrugs. 

“You have the worst fucking chirps.”

#

Montreal scores two goals in the second period. After the one that puts them up 3-2, the crowd chants  _ We want Sid! We want Sid! _ Sidney’s glad the brim of his hat hides most of his expression. He chews his gum so he doesn’t clench his jaw.

Bales leans in to chat with Johnston before he moves down the bench. Sid tracks him out of the corner of his eye as he watches Zatkoff skate around his goal before settling back into his crease. Even from here, Sidney can see the hint of defeat. Fuck their fans for making their own fucking goalie doubt himself.

“Sid.”

“I’m not going in,” Sidney says. “Tishy can do this. Someone just needs to show a bit of faith in him, eh? A blowout against Dallas then yanking him the first time Montreal gets a lead? He’s tough but that’s a lot to ask him to bounce back from.”

Bales clasps Sid’s shoulder. “That’s what I thought. I’ll let Johnston know. But--”

“If he pushes it, I’ll be ready.”

#

At the end of the period, Sid gives Tazer a sharp look as if to say  _ fix them  _ before he plasters himself to Zatkoff’s side. 

“You’ve got this,” Sid says. 

“That last one was a bad goal.”

“It was. Now put it behind you. Our guys will score. You just hold the line.” When he sees the doubt still lingering, Sid nudges Zatkoff and smiles. “It’s Condon on the other side, not Price. You don’t think our guys can score two?”

“They can score five, but they don’t need to.” Zatkoff squares his shoulders. 

#

Zatkoff doesn’t let a single goal in in the third period, and Hornqvist scores the equalizer. Overtime passes without a goal for either team despite Pittsburgh having a power play. It means they go to a shootout, and Zatkoff doesn’t let a single goal by him there either.

He denies Galchenyuk then Geno scores a filthy fucking goal. He stick handles until Condon’s out of position then dekes around him and flicks the puck in. Tanger whistles, impressed. “Someone’s getting laid tonight.”

“Bar of his choice,” Duper agrees.

Geno skates back to the bench with a smug smirk. He goes down the fistbump line then reaches Sid, the last in line. “You like?”

Sid shrugs. “It was okay.”

Geno just laughs and sits down next to him. “Liar. I know what you like.”

Zatkoff is square to Desharnais and gives him top right then, when Desharnais bites, he snaps his glove out and snatches the puck out of the air.

“That was nice,” Sid says.

“Not as nice as my goal.”

Sidney rolls his eyes. “I’m not stroking your ego.”

“Something’s getting stroked tonight,” Tanger says with an eyebrow waggle.

“Alright,” Flower says. “Enough of this. Thriller, you better get out there and show that forwards are the best.”

“Ha,” Geno laughs as Phil goes over the boards. “Maybe show that forwards are needed. Defense have to do  _ everything _ .”

Tanger holds up a hand for a high five and Geno gleefully slaps it. 

“So it’s going to be one of those nights,” Duper mutters.

Sidney grins until Phil starts his shootout attempt then he focuses. Geno has good hands but Phil’s are even better. He draws Condon out of his net, freezes him, then knocks the puck in. 

“Two for two!” Beau exclaims.

“All hail our savior, Phil the Thrill!” Flower calls, jubilant as Phil skates through the line. He gives Flower a squinty look but there’s a faint flush on his cheeks as if he’s pleased. 

“You like mine better,” Geno whispers to Sid then he joins the race to Zatkoff as if he doesn’t need a response. 

#

Sid takes Zatkoff out for cheesecake after the game. The first time they did this, Zatkoff had boggled at the concept of Sidney so blatantly cheating on his diet plan. Now they do it semi-regularly, after a good game or a bad one, whenever either of them feels like it.

Sidney smiles happily at his chocolate peanut butter cheesecake. Zatkoff went more traditional. They don’t talk much, and Zatkoff orders a second slice on their way out to bring home to his wife the way he does every time. 

They part ways, Zatkoff home to his wife to let the game go and Sidney to his house to watch tape on the Jackets. 

There’s a familiar car in his driveway when he pulls in and he shakes his head even as he heads up the walk. The door opens before he can reach it.

“Hi,” Geno says.

“Hi. I didn’t know you live here.”

“Have key. Thought you might want friend after game.”

“Why would I need someone?” Sid enters his house, careful not to touch Geno. Having Geno here, waiting for him at his house, it feels as if they’re on the edge of something. Touching him would push them over the edge, and he’s not sure he’s ready to see what’s down there. “The crowd wasn’t coming after  _ me _ .”

“But use you to go after Tishy. You always take this hard.”

He does. Rather than admit he was grouchy and apologize, Sid drifts into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” 

“Always hungry.” Geno pokes his head in Sid’s fridge and takes out Tupperware, cracks the lid open then either sets it on the counter or puts it back. “I think you aren’t hungry. Sneak out for dessert?”

“I didn’t  _ sneak _ . And it was important goalie bonding time.” Sidney opens one of the Tupperware and wrinkles his nose. He hands the container to Geno. “I don’t know why you like this.”

“I don’t know why you make if you don’t like.”

“You like it.” Sid says it like it’s obvious then can’t quite hold back his smirk as Geno pops the container in the microwave.

“You make food for me?”

“You’re here all the time. Sometimes it feels like you live here.”

Geno, never a coward on the ice, doesn’t look over at Sidney when he asks, “Bad thing?”

“Not bad.”

There’s a pause then Geno genture ventures a quiet, “Good thing?”

“I like it. It was nice coming home to someone in the house.”

Geno nods as if he’s agreeing to something. Sid puts together a salad to assuage his guilt over late night cheesecake. He’ll make up for it tomorrow in the weight room. Geno scoffs at the salad but when Sidney makes enough for two, he eats his whole portion without complaint. 

After they’re done eating, they stick their dishes in the dishwasher then catch part of the Ducks-Oilers game. At a stoppage in play, they replay Corey Perry’s first period goal, the 300th of his career.

“Yuck,” Geno says and turns the TV off.

Sid tries to muster up his outrage over Geno taking control of the remote but all he manages is a yawn. “Are you staying here tonight?”

Geno checks his phone. “Is late.”

Sidney interprets that as a yes. “All your stuff is in the guest suite from the last time you stayed over. If you need anything let me know.”

He goes to the master suite and brushes his teeth then washes his face. Once he’s in his pajamas and under his covers, if he strains his ears, he can hear Geno getting ready for bed down the hall. 

It’s easier to fall asleep than he thought it would be.

#

The game against Columbus is a bit of a shitshow like they always are. Geno’s never liked Jack for some reason. And Sid hates basically the rest of the team. Dubinsky is a thorn in his side every time they play.

Tonight, the chippiness begins early. Dubinsky plants himself in Sid’s crease and refuses to budge. Sid shoves him, jabs at the backs of his knees, even Tanger swoops in to knock him away but he comes back like a magnet. 

Despite the screen, Sid makes back-to-back stops to keep the score tied at zero.

On the next shift, Jenner makes a nuisance of himself. 

Two shifts later,  _ Jack  _ fucks around in Sid’s crease, and Sidney jabs him extra hard because he knows better.  These are the games where Sidney hates their new style of play. It feels as if the puck is always in their own zone. He fends off Jack and Jenner and Dubinsky then does it again and again. 

He’s tired by the end of the first period, and it’s even worse after the second. His reaction times are slower, his mind working quicker than his body, and he lets in a soft goal then a rocket from the point. He’s pissed with himself, because he should’ve had the first one, and he wanted to have the second one. 

The next time Dubinsky’s on his doorstep, Sidney whacks him with his paddle. 

“You want to let in another?” Dubinsky asks. “I could use extra padding on the stat sheet.”

Sid ignores him which means once he has the opportunity, Dubinsky “accidentally” falls on him. Sid’s on his stomach, his glove trapping the puck when Dubinsky lands ass-first on the small of Sidney’s back. Sid grunts and tries to buck him off.

A moment later, Dubinsky’s weight is gone. Sidney pulls up into a crouch to see Geno trying to fight what looks like the entire Columbus line. Hagelin jumps into the fight and even Phil gets in a few good swings before the officials break everything up.

Sid skates a circle around his net to make sure everything still works. His back twinges but it’s minor annoyance that’ll be gone after a good night’s sleep. Nothing to worry about then. He eyes the penalty boxes, full on each side, then hunkers down in his net for puck drop. 

#

After the game, a 1-2 loss, Geno’s spirits are surprisingly high. He follows Sid back to his house and heats up leftovers for both of them. There’s a smile on his face that Sid isn’t used to seeing after losses and it makes an ugly, angry part of him want to poke at Geno until he snaps. They know each other well enough to know where all the soft spots are.

He keeps his mouth shut and eats, chewing then swallowing without tasting anything. He rinses their dishes in the dishwasher then openly stares at Geno  _ hums _ .

“What gives?” Sidney asks.

Geno’s brow furrows the way it does when English confuses him. It’s not a look Sid sees very often anymore. “You’re never this cheery after a loss.” He frowns at the bruise blooming near Geno’s eye and grabs a bag of frozen peas from the freezer.

“Johnson fight a baseball team with you. I fight whole hockey team.”

Sid tries to muster up a glare, because this is the exact behavior Bylsma tried to squash for years. All he can manage is a sigh as he hands the peas and a dishtowel over. 

“I take guys to box with me,” Geno says, coaxing, as if he’s going to persuade Sid to his side. “Not a stupid penalty.”

And boy do those words bring back some of the worst fights they’ve had. Bylsma tried suggestions, tried having Tazer lead by example, then he outright mandated that there would be no more stupid penalties taken over Sidney. The very next game, Geno went at it with some fourth line scrub over a snow shower, and Sid thought Bylsma was going to combust right there on the bench.

It was Sidney who dragged Geno home and gave him an earful about this was exactly what Bylsma meant when he said no stupid penalties. Then Geno, puffed up and angry, loudly argued that no penalty taken to protect Sidney was stupid. The ensuing shouting match led to Geno storming out of Sidney’s house and Nealer calling to ask why the hell he was picking Geno up from some random street in Sewickley when he wasn’t even drunk.

It took an intervention from Tazer to clear that one up. Their captain sat them both down and stared uncomfortably until they cracked and talked it out. Sid’s accepted that Geno’s protective streak runs deep and that means sometimes he’s going to do something really fucking stupid. And Geno’s agreed to try and rein in those impulses but, when he can’t, to at least take another top line player out with him.

Geno looks so fucking earnest, and when he puts the frozen peas to his eyes he hisses at the cold.  _ Serves him right _ , Sidney thinks then he sighs. “Want to watch Animal Planet until you’re done icing?”

Geno’s smile grows even more. “Cooking show?”

“Only if you promise we aren’t trying whatever they make.”

“Of course,” Geno says. He looks sincere which means he’s fucking lying.

Sidney sighs again but lets Geno put on one of the episodes of  _ Chopped  _ they have DVRed. 

#

Zatkoff plays the next night since it’s a back-to-back and the Pens are shut out 0-4 on the road. Sid sits with him on the flight back to Pittsburgh and watches some dumb comedy he queues up on Netflix. He remembers seeing previews for it a while back, but he doesn’t make it to the movie theater often. Maybe he’ll drag Geno with him on one of their off days. 

Only, when they land, Geno doesn’t follow Sidney home. It throws off Sidney’s routine, because he makes himself a snack and waits for the sound of a car door closing then the front door opening. It never comes. He’s upstairs brushing his teeth when he remembers he didn’t lock the door and he goes back downstairs, dripping toothpaste foam, so he can turn the lock.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep. His bed feels too empty even though Geno always sleeps in the guest suite. He tries hugging a pillow then tries starfishing then eventually falls asleep on his side.

It must be the wrong side, because he wakes up grumpy. He scowls through scrambling his eggs and even taking his breakfast and coffee to the sunroom doesn’t improve his mood. He stretches in his chair and looks out at his backyard and gloomily shovels eggs into his mouth.

He’s aware he’s being ridiculous, but he’s tired after a late flight, he’s annoyed with the loss even though he wasn’t in net for it, and he’s annoyed that Geno isn’t here. 

He isn’t feeling anymore charitable when he hears a car door shut in the driveway. He thinks about locking his front door, but that’s petty, and it isn’t like Geno blew off existing plans. Sid just assumed he would come over after the game.

Then Geno shows up with some kind of mystery meat and Sid wishes he’d locked the damn door.

“Yak steak,” Geno says, proud.

Sid doesn't even want to know where he had to drive to find that. “What’re we supposed to do with yak steak?”

“Cook like normal steak and serve on kale salad.”

That sounds familiar. Sidney narrows his eyes. “What did I say about recreating  _ Chopped  _ in our kitchen?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Geno grills the steaks and Sid fusses over the salad and the result is pretty good, not that Sid will ever admit it.

#

They win some games and lose some games, and Sidney’s on pace for another monster season.. His hips and knees already ache and they’ve barely made it to November. 

On a rare off day, he and Geno go to the movies. They run first but still catch an early showing of  _ Spectre _ . There aren’t any kids because they’re in school, but there are few vans from the local nursing home which means the theater is half full of elderly people. The last few rows are empty and Geno drags Sid all the way up to the top.

They prop their feet up on the seats in front of them and Geno dumps two packets of salt into their popcorn. When he opens a third, Sid warns, “We’re going to the weight room after this.”

Geno shrugs and adds the salt.

Sidney can’t remember if he saw the movie that came before this one. Fortunately, it's James Bond so it doesn’t matter. There’s explosions and spy stuff and Geno who scoffs at everything he claims is unrealistic. 

They go to Geno’s afterward, because Sid likes his home gym better, and they spot each other until Geno flops dramatically on the ground and refuses to move. 

#

They lose some more. On the games Sid plays well, they have no puck support. Then, when the team remembers how to score, Sid’s like a fucking sieve. 

Everything comes to a head in December. Johnston is fired and replaced with Mike Sullivan then Sidney’s summoned for a meeting with Sullivan and Mario. It’s like being called into the principal’s office except worse because Sidney didn’t care much about school. These two men hold his future in their hands and he knows he hasn’t been playing well lately. They’ve already replaced their coach. Is Mario looking to completely clean house?

If Sullivan is intimidated by the owner being in his meeting, he doesn’t show it. He offers Sidney a warm smile and a firm handshake. “Thank you for coming in today. As you know, I’m a big believer in change. Just because something’s been done a particular way doesn’t mean it’s the best way to do it for a particular team.”

Sidney nods. They’ve all heard the speeches about having fun and getting back to their strengths. Rumors are swirling about Sullivan bringing some of the WBS guys up to inject some youth into the team. 

“We want to try a true 1A-1B situation,” Sullivan says.

Sidney can’t help his glance at Mario. He’s been  _ that  _ bad? And who the fuck will he split starts with? Johnston wouldn’t even trust Zatkoff with a game a month and they’re suddenly going to drop half a season’s worth of games on him? 

Despite his years of media training, Sidney’s smile is more like a grimace. Everyone was right then. He hasn’t been the same since his concussion, and his new coach doesn’t believe he will be. He folds his hands in his lap so no one can see how they shake. 

“This isn’t a demotion,” Sullivan says. He cracks a smile at Sidney’s disbelief. “I know it feels that way. Hockey players believe the better they play the more minutes they get which means if their minutes are reduced then they must be playing poorly. You’re the best goaltender in this League. I’ll stand in front of any camera and say it, and I’ll say it to you now. But the truth is, you’re playing too many games. My job as your coach is to set you up for success. It’s your job, when the moment comes, to be successful.”

“And you think playing less games is the solution?”

“How did you feel when the playoffs ended last season?”

If Mario wasn’t here then Sid would roll his eyes. “Like I wanted to punch Lundqvist in the face.” Sullivan is patient, waits, until Sid sighs and admits, “A bit rundown.”

“You don’t need to start every game in order to stay sharp. You don’t even need to start 75% of them. If we can find a goalie to share the workload then you’ll be fresh for the playoffs. You’ll be able to steal series when the team needs it like you did against Washington.”

Sidney can tell when someone’s mind is made up. Pittsburgh’s going to try the 1A-1B and hopefully have more success with it than Dallas. “So you’re trading for someone?”

“I already have a guy in mind.”

#

Matt Murray is tall, lanky, and doesn’t take it personally when Flower tries to score as many goals on him in his first practice as possible. Every time Flower scores, he looks over at Sid as if to  _ are you proud of me? I’m proving he isn’t as good as you _ . Which...Sid appreciates the show of support, but breaking their baby goalie seems like a bad idea.

After Geno blasts a shot that would make Shea Weber proud, Zatkoff whistles. “He’s pissed.”

“They think they need to defend my reputation. Murray isn’t here to replace me.” They’re going to “share the workload”. Of course, it means Zatkoff definitely doesn’t have a future here in Pittsburgh. He’ll play a few games but they’ll move him, sometime during the season or this summer. There aren’t enough games to split amongst three goaltenders. 

“He’s pretty good. Sully might be onto something here.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

#

Sid backs them to a win in Sullivan’s first game as their coach. It’s against the Capitals, and Sidney always finds another level against them. He takes a vicious pleasure out of denying Ovechkin, especially on the power play. 

They lose the second game with Sid in net, away against the Bruins but Sidney gets the next start, home against the Bruins and he pulls off a win. 

Murray’s first start is home against the Hurricanes, a 1-2 loss. He stands in front of the reporters after the game and lets them pick apart his game and compare him to Sid as if there’s any reason Murray should already be as good as Sidney. 

Tazer claps Murray on the back afterward and all the WBS call-ups lean in to say something to him, but the veteran players keep their distance. Geno keeps nodding to himself as if it’s a  _ good  _ thing they lost. Which means it’s up to Sidney to fix this fucking mess before it gets completely out of control.

“Goalie time,” Sidney tells Zatkoff, loudly enough that the locker room quiets around them. It doesn’t go completely silent, but people are definitely paying attention. “Muzz, you’re coming with us. No excuses. I can drive you if you don’t have a car yet.”

Flower narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to figure out Sid’s play here. Murray just shrugs and strips down so he can shower. By the time they reach the parking lot, Murray’s suspicious but when Zatkoff flashes him a thumbs up, he slides into the front seat of Sid’s car. He doesn’t even have to move the seat back, because he and Geno both have ridiculously long legs.

Sidney fiddles with the radio until he finds some pop station. Kids like pop music, right? Probably more than they like country. Murray doesn’t comment on the music, he doesn’t say anything at all, staring out the window until they pull up at the restaurant. His silence shifts into something more like suspicion once they’ve sat down and they waitress has taken their order.

“It’s up to you whether or not we talk about the game,” Zatkoff says. “Starter’s choice.”

Murray glances at Sid who, for the sake of honesty, has to amend what Tishy said. “Sometimes I overrule if I don’t think talking about it will be productive, but tonight it’s up to you. Your first NHL start is a big deal.”

“Would’ve been better if we won.”

“We’ll get there.”

Murray looks like he wants to argue, but he shuts his mouth, settling for a frown instead.

“Tell me about your dog,” Sid says.

Talking about dogs carries them through dinner. Murray’s actually loosening up until the waitress hands them dessert menus. Then he draws into himself again and looks around as if he thinks they’re setting him up.

“You want to know the Crosby secret to goaltending?” Zatkoff asks. “Cheesecake.”

Murray still looks skeptical, but he orders a berry cobbler with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Afterwards, Sid drives Murray back to the hotel. He almost wishes he’d let Zatkoff take him, because he’s better with people, and awkward situations, than Sid is, but Sidney knows he needs to be comfortable with the situation if Murray and the rest of the team are ever going to be comfortable with it.

So he turns the music down and ignores Murray’s panicked glance. “This is a new situation. Honestly, it’s a little weird, but we have two choices; make it work or let it tear the team apart.”

“I’ve never shared a crease before. It’s always been a competition.”

Sidney remembers those days. He’s pushed more than one goaltender out of their starting job, and he tried to do it gracefully, but he never backed down. This is the first time his starting job has been threatened, but, if he believes Sullivan then it  _ isn’t  _ being threatened. 

“I think the purpose of this is that it’s not a competition,” Sidney says. “We’re sharing.” It sounds weird to say, and it’s Sid’s turn to frown.

“What about Tishy?”

“It’ll be toughest for him, but he’s just as important as we are. No matter which one of us is in net, we need to be our best and give the team a chance to win. I don’t know what Wilkes Barre was like but we’re a unit at practice. We make each other better because it makes the team better. The Penguins come before everything else.”

“Okay.” Murray nods as if he’s committing Sidney’s little speech to memory. 

Sidney pulls up in front of the hotel. “And I’m always here if you need something. Do you have my phone number yet?”

They exchange numbers, but Sidney doesn’t expect any texts or phone calls, not yet at least. First he has to get the kid to trust him. Which means  _ Sid  _ needs to get on board with Sullivan’s plan. He takes the long way home, country music playing in the background as he thinks.

He has the same two choices Murray has; accept the system or fight it. There’s no guarantee that Sullivan isn’t looking for a replacement for Sidney. Would Mario let it happen? If it was in the best interest of the Pens then yes. Which means Sidney has to make sure he’s the best goalie he can be. So...business as usual then. 

Nothing’s changed but he feels better anyway as he pulls into his driveway. Geno meets him at the door with a scowl. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

“We needed goalie time.”

Geno’s scowl deepns, because he’s never been shy about his emotions.

“We need to talk about that.” Sid takes his shoes off then closes the door behind him. “Murray’s team now. He isn’t pushing me out.” Geno walks away which is stupid because Sidney just follows him. “Weren’t you the one telling me that last year was too much? Sully and Mario agree. They’re limiting my games so that when I play I’m at my best.”

“I mean Tishy should play more not bring in replacement.”

“He’s not replacing me.” At Geno’s scoff, Sid grabs his shoulder and turns him so they’re face each other. “If you don’t believe management then believe me. Do you think I’d give up my net to some kid fresh out of the minors? Do you think I’m so washed up I can’t fight for what’s mine?”

Geno’s expression softens.

“I’m not going anywhere. Penguins for life, remember?”

It was the promise they made after they won the Cup, high off the win and drunk off champagne. Sid had never been happier in his life. He wanted it again and again and he and Geno made a pat; Penguins forever, and they’d win again.

They haven’t won again, but they're still here so they still have an opportunity. 

“Penguins for life,” Geno echoes.

He draws Sidney in close as if he can hold him here in Pittsburgh. Sidney hugs back just as hard. 

#

Sid and Geno show up to practice together the next morning. Spotting Sullivan, Sidney nudges Geno towards the locker room then breaks off to talk to their coach. Sullivan watches him approach with an expression Sidney can’t quite decipher. He nods to himself as if he’s had something confirmed, but Sidney hasn’t said anything yet.

“I’ve straightened G out.”

Sullivan’s lips twitch in an almost-smile.

“I’ll tackle Flower and that crew next. Everyone will get on board.”

“Thank you. I know this isn’t an easy transition, but I believe it’s best for the team. And while Tazer’s the captain, they all look to you.”

“It’s only because this is a goalie thing.”

Sullivan raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t call Sidney out on the lie. “Leadership is important. It’s a sign of a weak team when it only comes from players with letters. I don’t want to silence the voices in the room.”

“We’re a vocal bunch. I’m sure you’ve seen the videos of Tazer and Flower shouting at each other as if whoever is loudest wins the argument. It’s good though. Sometimes that’s what Tazer needs to put some jump in his game. And sometimes Flower needs to be told to shut up and play. I hope the kids you’ve brought up aren’t easily spooked.”

“They’ll settle in.”

Sullivan sounds confident, and Sid finds himself responding to it, the knot of doubt in his stomach loosening. He’s well known for his aversion to change and this past week has been nothing but one change after another. He needs someone to tell him everything will be fine. And it has to be someone he believes.

If Johnston had tried to give him this speech...well, Johnston isn’t here anymore. 

“I know you’re the coach, but I think Murray should start against Columbus.”

Rather than looking surprised, Sullivan smiles, pleased. “Why?”

“You want us to share the net. That only works if he has the confidence to be a NHL goaltender. He won’t get there if he’s benched after every loss. It...the beginning of this season was tough. It’s not good for the team if we have to rebuild Tishy and Muzz’s confidence. He knows you believe in him. Show the rest of the team that you do. I think that’s important to establish.”

Sullivan smiles as if Sid’s passed a test. “Do you have any other thoughts? I want to try Shears with Tazer and Flower.”

“His speed will be good for them.” Tazer to battle then speed to breakout. Sid nods to himself. “What about Phil?” He’s been playing well, but he hasn’t been the miracle they’re looking for.

“Sutter’s responsible and dependable, but he might be stifling Phil’s creativity. I don’t think we have an answer for that yet, though.”

Center depth has always been their problem for his whole career here. But it sounds as if they aren’t done making changes.

“We have a team that can make the playoffs,” Sully says with a lot of confidence given their current record. “While we secure the place, the front office will make sure we have the players we need to succeed.”

“They’ll set us up for success then we follow through?”

Sullivan smiles. “Exactly.”

#

Geno and the crew are the only ones in the weight room when Sid shows up. It means he has no problem switching to French to say, “ _ Quit fucking with Muzz. He’s team and we need him _ .”

Flower huffs. Tanger looks guilty but not repentant. Kuni at least makes a show of listening. Tazer has his headphones in, giving them their space, but Sid bets he’s listening. Geno, of course, looks smug.

Flower groans and slaps a twenty in his outstretched palm.

“Seriously?” Sid demands, back to English.

“I thought it would take another week for this speech,” Kuni says adding his own twenty. 

Geno shrugs, aiming for innocent and completely missing it. “Cheesecake bonding.”

“Must’ve been some cheesecake,” Flower mutters.

Sid could point out that he talked to Geno last night so the bet’s invalid or he could ask why they’re betting on this at all or why the fuck they brought money to the weight room. Instead, he hops on the bike so he can warm-up.

“That’s it?” Kuni asks, disappointed. That was the big speech?”

“Do you need more than  _ quit being stupid _ ?”

“I feel a little let down.” Kuni shrugs then lifts a set of free weights off the rack.

“How should we prank him?” Flower asks. At Sid’s glare, he smiles angelically. “It’s how I show my love. We’ve already hung clothes in the rafters.”

Because this  _ is  _ how Flower shows his love, Sid doesn’t try to talk him out of it. He just says, “Leave his gear alone.”

Flower sighs. “Just because  _ one  _ time--”

“You hid my cup! People fire pucks at me! It’s an important piece of equipment.”

Flower cackles, still not sorry. Sid glares at him and jams his headphones in. After he bikes, he moves to the mats so he can stretch out. He’s part way through his routine when he feels someone’s gaze on him. Flower and Tazer are arguing over a missed pass from last night’s game while Kuni keeps an eye on the situation in case he needs to step in.

There’s only one other person in the room, and Sid isn’t surprised to look up and see Geno looking back. Unfazed by being caught, Geno just grins and stacks some more weight on his bar as if he thinks Sid will be impressed by his squat numbers.

“Still too low,” Sid says.

Geno laughs and adds more weight to each side. “Better to do it right, yes?”

“You better be going to 90 degrees if your bar is that light.”

“Not everyone has ass like Sid.”

“You might if you actually squatted right,” Kuni says. Then, at their surprise, he grins. “Oh, I’m sorry, was that a private conversation?”

“Fuck you, Kuni,” Geno grumbles.

Kuni’s grin grows. “Hey, Tazer! I think Geno wants you to spot him.”

“Don’t need spotter.”

That, of course, leads to a heated discussion of weight room safety and Sid sticks his headphones back in and keeps stretching. He’s a little disappointed when Tazer spots Geno, because he blocks Sid’s view of Geno’s ass.

#

“I believe in transparency within the team,” Sullivan says to start practice. “I want each one of you to know what decisions are being made. You may not like the minutes you play or the position you play or even the systems we run, but you’ll never wonder why. That being said, I don’t extend the same courtesy to the media. What happens in our practices and in our locker room, that’s our business.”

It seems like an ominous speech, especially when he segues into the pluses and minuses from last game and the changes for their game against Columbus. It’s an important game, because they need all the points they can get and because their coach is facing off against his friend.

Even though Sid agrees that Murray should have the start, he wants it. But Sullivan announces that Murray’s in net for the next game, and Sid nods encouragingly then works with the young goalie during practice so he’s ready for it.

As soon as practice is over, the beat reporters swarm Sullivan hoping for an update on practice. He talks up their strengths and addresses the weaknesses they worked on.

Then comes the magic questions. “Who’s getting the start against Columbus?”

“Game time decision,” Sullivan answers then doesn’t budge.

#

Columbus comes to town and Tortorella gives the media the soundbites they want. He’s always disliked Sid, and he accuses Sidney of being scared to face his squad as if he can goad Sullivan into putting Sidney in net. Or maybe he’s trying to trick Sullivan into putting Murray in net.

It doesn’t matter.

Sullivan’s made his decision and everyone will know when the puck drops at seven. 

“Columbus plays dirty,” Sid says as he heats up a post-skate lunch for him and Geno. “Don’t let them crowd Murray’s net.”

Geno rolls his eyes. “Have played against Jackets before.”

“Protect him like he’s me.”

“He’s not you, but I’ll still protect. He’s my goalie for game.”

Sid can’t help but wrinkle his nose at Geno calling someone else his goalie. It’s stupid and Geno’s huff of laughter confirms that he thinks it’s stupid too. Sid’s the one who just told Geno to keep an eye out on Murray during the game but he likes feeling special. 

Geno crowds Sid against the counter and pushes his curls out of his face. It’s a reminder that Sid needs to schedule a haircut. “I protect Sid like Sid and Muzz like Muzz. Not the same.”

“I’m being stupid.”

Geno shakes his head. “Is big change. No one thinks it will be easy. But you have all of us to help you.”

Sid’s job is to defend the net. In theory, his defensemen are supposed to do the same, but Geno’s always taken a different approach. He determined that his job is to protect Sidney, and he’s never looked back. It leads to stupid penalties and the occasional fight, but Sidney never feels as safe as he does when Geno’s on the ice with him. 

It’s silly to be more jealous of Muzz for that than the start itself, but Sid’s never been accused of being rational when  Geno’s involved. 

“Now you’re giving me pep talks?” Sidney asks. “Maybe Sullivan is a miracle worker.”

Geno flicks Sid’s ear so Sid pokes his stomach. They’re tussling and avoiding the corners of the counter when the timer goes off, announcing that lunch is ready. They call a truce so they can eat.

As they wash their dishes, Sid covers a yawn. “Pre-game nap?”

“Show first,” Geno says.

“I’ll just fall asleep on the couch.”

“No, no, we’ll watch exciting show.”

Sid’s skeptical, but Geno herds him into the den and it’s easier to be shepherded than to fight. Geno puts on some marine rehabilitation show, and the turtle is kind of cute and its broken shell is sad but it isn’t  _ exciting _ . They can argue about that later though. Sid’s tucked against Geno’s side, the blanket is draped over his legs, and he’s too comfortable to complain.

He falls asleep during a commercial break. When he wakes up, he’s horizontal but still cuddled by Geno who snores lightly behind him. Sid checks his phone, decides he has enough time before his alarm goes off and goes back to sleep.

#

The Pens win a decisive 5-2 over Columbus for Muzz’s first win as a Penguin. It’s their last game before the Christmas break so they’re a rowdy bunch as they take over their favorite bar. Sidney buys the first round, both because as a veteran player and Muzz’s mentor he feels like he should, but also because buying the first round means when he comes back, he can tuck himself deep into the booth and not have to worry about getting up again.

The guys who are used to this hadn’t even sat down. They’re standing by the table when Sidney returns with a tray of shots, but no one reaches for one until Sid hands the first to Muzz. “To a well-deserved win.”

Once Sidney slides into his place next to Geno, the team descends on the drinks. Sid ends up with one and Geno somehow ends up with two. He switches to beer in the second round, both because that’s what Tazer ordered and because he can nurse the same drink for the rest of the night. He’s too old to drink like he did when they were rookies.

Getting that drunk is now reserved for only the most special of occasions, winning Olympic gold and winning the Stanley Cup. 

He’s content to sip his beer as the kids mime their favorite moments from the game. Once they shut up long enough to drink, Phil talks, cracking sly jokes then grinning, pleased with himself when everyone laughs. He had two goals tonight, both scored off set-ups by Bones. Looks like Sully found a better center match for him even though there’s something still missing. Sid can’t quite put his finger on it. Phil definitely had a good night, but they could help him be even better. They just…

Geno’s arm curls around Sid’s shoulder. It had been draped over the booth but now he tucks Sid closer as if he’s pulling some kind of middle school movie-date move. Sid can never tell anyone that he kind of likes it. 

“No more thinking,” Geno whispers. He holds Sid still as he squirms. “Break now, yes? Hockey is still here when we come back.”

“How do you know I’m thinking about hockey?”

Geno thumbs away the crease in Sid’s forehead. “Because you’re frowning. We had a good game. Baby goalie play well, defense play even better.” He puffs up his chest, over the top, and Sidney laughs and pokes him until he deflates. 

“Modest as ever.”

Geno shrugs, unrepentant. He is who he is, and Sid likes him anyway which is clearly poor taste on his part. Still, he leans in until they’re too close for how warm the bar is. 

When he next checks in on the table, Shears is reenacting Fehr’s fight and Tazer is fussing over Wilson’s hands. It was a good game for them, five goals and two fights, even if they played into Columbus’s game more than Sid’s comfortable with. At least they played Columbus’s game and were better at it. 

He grins and takes another sip of his beer. 

He’s about halfway through when he looks up and catches Muzz looking at him. Sid raises his bottle in acknowledgement, because he played a good game. He made the adjustments he needed from last game and, more importantly, he looked settled, as if he belonged in net. Sid’s never been able to explain to someone how big a difference it makes knowing you won’t be pulled. Playing goalie is 80% mental and 20% flexibility, and as soon as it clicks in Muzz’s head that he can do this and that the team and the coaching staff believe it too; well...the League better watch out.

He’s not quite there, only two NHL games under his belt, but he’ll have more before the season is over. 

#

They come back from the break relaxed and fired up at the same time. Everyone has stories about family dinner or meeting up with their buddies or cool presents they got. Shears and Dumo stick close in the locker room, and Shears cheeks are flushed pink from whatever they’re talking about which, of course, is Flower’s cue to eavesdrop.

“I hope it was a pretty necklace at least,” Flower says then grins as both kids startle. “Jewelry is such an unoriginal gift.”

“Here we go,” Kuni mutters.

“Muzz, get your skinny ass over here,” Flower demands. “I have wisdom to impart.”

Muzz glances at Sid as if looking for a rescue. Sidney just shrugs and says, “Just get it over with so we can have some peace in here.”

Flower gasps and clutches his chest as if he belongs in  _ Gone with the Wind _ . “It’s like you don’t respect my leadership. Captain Intangible, Sidney needs a lecture.”

Tazer rolls his eyes and goes back to taping his stick.

Flower shrugs and gathers the rookies closer. “I was young and in love once too. Vero was the most incredible girl I had ever met. I fell in love with her at first sight then she delivered what could’ve been a fatal blow.  _ I don’t date hockey players _ , she told me. I was devastated.”

Sidney laughs quietly and shakes his head. He’s heard this story dozens of times, but Flower never loses his flair for the dramatic. And, with a wide-eyed audience, he plays it up.

“But she was perfection in human form and I knew that even if I couldn’t marry her one day, I needed her in my life. I asked how she felt about being friends with hockey players. She was suspicious, and I can’t blame her. We became friends. Picnics and walks and movies and she even came to a couple of my games. Years passed. My love for her grew, but I never asked her out again. She only wanted friendship, and I wouldn’t push for more.

“Until fate and the future conspired to split us apart. I was drafted to the Penguins and assigned to Wilkes-Barre, and I knew I wouldn’t be coming back for a long time. I ran all the way to Vero’s doorstep. I had to know if I should bring my love for her to Pennsylvania or if I should try and put it behind me. So when she opened her front door, I said you are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once.  _ My _ affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever. I--”

“Wait a second,” Dumo interrupts. “That’s Mr. Darcy’s speech from  _ Pride & Prejudice _ .”

Flower doesn’t look ashamed or even try to deny it. “How did you know that? No one’s ever called me on it before.”

“I went to college,” Dumo reminds him. “I even paid attention some of the time.”

“Is that the one with the rain?” Shears asks.

“That’s  _ The Notebook _ ,” Kuni says. He shrugs when people look at him. “What? Maureen likes it.”

“I mean, it does rain for the first proposal scene,” Phil answers.

“Only in the new movie,” Dumo says. “In the long one with Colin Firth there’s no rain. Just a sick burn.”

They’re still talking about  _ Pride & Prejudice  _ when Sully comes in. Their coach looks around the room and says, “This is unexpected.”

“Flower’s a romantic,” Sidney tells him.

“And a plagiarist,” Kuni adds.

Sully takes it all in stride. “On the ice in ten minutes.”

He walks back out without giving them their usual rundown of what practice will look like. They return to their debate of old books until Tazer directs them all to the ice. Sully gives his speech here, and they start practice relaxed but ready to work. 

#

The team spends the next two weeks clutching their chests and saying, “Oh, Mr. Darcy!” every time they see Flower. Shearsy even swoons and Dumo catches him as they both laugh. Flower takes it with good grace, but Sid has the feeling he’s keeping a running tally of everyone who’s said it or even laughed so he can retaliate when they aren’t expecting it. 

For Sid’s part, he’s readying for a nap one day when Geno holds up a copy of the new  _ Pride & Prejudice _ . “Pirate lady is in it. We should watch.”

Sidney squints at the DVD before he makes the connection between Keira Knightley and  _ Pirates of the Caribbean _ . “I’m going to nap.”

“After the movie?” Geno wheedles.

And, sometimes Sid is slow. Not on the ice, he has some of the best reflexes in the League. But off it, it sometimes takes him a few times to get things. This is now the fifth time Geno’s ambushed him before a nap with some movie or TV show to watch. The past four times, Sid’s woken up on the couch with Geno sleeping behind him. 

He has no problem napping together, but if they’re going to do it, he’d rather do it in a bed. Eventually, sleeping on the couch will take a toll on their bodies. 

“I’m going upstairs to take a nap,” Sidney says, firm. Then, at the Geno’s frown, he adds, “but you can come with me.” Geno hesitates and Sidney rolls his eyes. “We’ve been napping together for the past two weeks. And don’t tell me it was an accident.”

Geno shrugs. 

“We can keep doing it,” Sid says. “I’m just acknowledging that we’re doing it. And saying that a bed would be better for our backs.”

Geno looks forlornly at his movie. “We watch after the game?” 

“Tomorrow?”

Geno pretends to think but he caves quickly. “Tomorrow.”

They head upstairs together, and Sid wonders if maybe he made a mistake in acknowledging what they’ve been doing. Napping on the couch is one thing, even if it was purposeful. Climbing into his bed together is something completely different. It feels more charged. He lies down, stiff as a board, breath caught in his throat as if by not moving or breathing Geno will forget he’s here.

This was a terrible idea. All he can think about are all the other possible reasons they could be in his bed together. It’s a train of thought he’s often successful in derailing. Geno is his teammate and his friend, and he’s worked diligently to keep Geno in those boxes. 

It’s harder knowing that he’s within reach. Sid squeezes his eyes shut and turns on his side. There’s a beat of silence before Geno shuffles closer. When Sid doesn’t say anything, he shuffles forward again until his front is pressed against Sid’s back. He drapes an arm over Sid’s waist.

“Okay, Sid?” he asks, his voice a near whisper.

It’s how Sid always wakes up on the couch so he says, “It’s good, G,” and doesn’t add  _ as long as your hand doesn’t reach any lower.  _ He isn’t sporting a full chub right now, but he could get there without too much trouble. 

He focuses instead on the steady rise and fall of Geno’s chest and the soft puffs of air against his hair as Geno breathes. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

#

They muddle their way through January. Analysts and critics accuse their goalie experiment of being a failure. But, not that Sid says this to anyone, it isn’t goaltending where the team is weak. They aren’t winning games, but it’s because they’re missing a spark on offense, and they aren’t disciplined enough on defense.

On January 16th, they trade for Carl Hagelin. All Sid knows about him is that he was a fucking pain in the ass to play against when he was a Ranger. He also scored the series clinching goal last playoffs which makes Sidney want to hate him on principle. But...better to have that guy on his team so he won’t score those kinds of goals against Sidney again. 

Plus, as soon as they announcement is made, Horny lights up. He doesn’t stop smiling all through practice, telling everyone, “Did you know he’s my best friend?” 

By the time Hagelin shows up, Sid manages a smile for him. “Welcome to the team.” 

“Thanks.” Hagelin’s smile doesn’t have anything behind it. Sid remembers hearing a few comments that he hasn’t had a great season with the Ducks.

“Glad to see you on this side of things,” Sidney says. “We’re excited about your speed.”

Sidney’s spared from having to think of something else to say when Horny wanders by. He spots Hagelin, and they both grin then hug, and Sid’s safe to slip away. 

#

Things pick up at the end of January. They string together a few wins after discovering that while Phil and Bonino on a line together was good, Phil, Bonino, and Hagelin together is even better. Sid’s on the bench watching Muzz backstop them against the Devils when a Hagelin breakaway leads to a goal by Phil.

He stands up to congratulate the guys but he looks down the bench at his coach. Sullivan meets his gaze and grins. Looks like he found his missing piece.

#

They’re playing well, but they dug themselves into a pretty deep hole at the beginning of the season, and it’s a stiff climb out. 

Sid plays in a 3-6 loss to the Lightning and if it were last year or even earlier this season then he’d be in net again tomorrow night, because they couldn’t risk missing out on four straight points. But Muzz is coming into his own, and Sully puts him in for the game against the Panthers.

It takes OT but they win it, another two important points. They’re on the road so they don’t go out to celebrate, but Flower does lead Team Karaoke on the flight home. Tazer looks vaguely constipated the whole time, but it’s good for team morale so he doesn’t put a stop to it or put his headphones in even though Sid sees him pull them out of his bag then put them back four times.

_ Sid  _ almost puts his headphones on when Flower cajoles Phil into singing  _ Don’t Stop Believing _ with him. He texts Geno  _ this is painful _ and receives a series of laughing emojis in return. Sid texts back a stop sign and a bed. 

Geno actually stands up to look at him over the seats and Sid offers him most innocent expression in return. Napping together has evolved into sleeping together, and Sidney’s not sure when they’re going to progress to the next stage, but it’s obvious they are progressing. And he’s not below leveraging a place in his bed to get Geno to do what he wants. It’ll probably be more effective once he’s offering something besides his services as little spoon. 

“G, you’re volunteering?” Kuni asks.

Geno vehemently shakes his head but one of the kids starts changing, “Sing! Sing! Sing!” and soon everyone else is joining in.

“Where’s your team spirit?” Flower asks. “Tazer, tell G he should sing for the good of the team.”

“Tazer should go first,” Geno says. “Lead by example.”

“Captain Intangible!” someone shouts which leads to a new chant.

Once they finally settle down, Flower’s pulled up some Justin Bieber and he tells Tazer to do their country proud.

#

Once the weather grows warmer, Sid makes a change to goalie bonding. Muzz comes for dessert mostly to humor them, he thinks, because he looks vaguely guilty while he eats his cobbler or pie, always something with fruit in it. So Sid stops inviting Muzz to dessert night and instead invites him and his dog to the local park. He still goes for cheesecake with Tishy, and the three of them will go to Pita Pit for lunch after practice so they still do things the three of them, but he stops encouraging Muzz to break his diet plan.

Today, he’s running late for the park, because he had to wait for the washer to finish so he could switch his laundry, because Geno always says he’ll do it for him then forgets which means Sid has to wash his clothes again and still dry them. 

“I say I’m do!” Geno calls from the living room as Sid tosses his wet clothes in the dryer.

“It’s not a problem!” 

He jabs a couple buttons, figures it can’t hurt for them to dry a little longer than usual, and rushes into the hallway to put his shoes on. He hates being late to things which is probably why Geno’s fucking laughing at him as he hops around on one foot as he ties his shoe. 

“Muzz has his puppy, he won’t notice if you’re not there.”

“Not helping!”

Sid ties both his shoes then pats his back pockets. His wallet is in one but his keys aren’t. He looks at the key holder above the shoe rack. Not there.

“Looking for these?”

He turns to see Geno  _ right there _ , dangling Sid’s keys from his fingers. “Yes, thank you.” Sid snatches them from Geno’s hand, leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, then heads out the door. “I’ll be back for dinner!” he calls.

He’s halfway down the walk when his brain catches up to what just happened.

He just kissed Geno.

On the cheek, yes, but after Geno handed him his keys which might make it  _ worse  _ than if he’d kissed him full on the mouth.

He--

Promised Muzz he’d be at the dog park.

He can freak out about this later.

#

Later turns out to be when he’s throwing a stick for Muzz’s dog. He kissed Geno. Maybe he doesn’t have to go home? No, he promised he’d be home for dinner. Fuck. Maybe Geno will have gone back to his house? Doubtful.

_ Fuck _ .

“You okay?” Muzz has his hands tucked into his pockets. He’s remarkably casual but he also probably isn’t freaking out because he just kissed his favorite defenseman. 

“Thinking about dinner.”

It’s mostly the truth. Enough of that truth that he doesn’t feel guilty for lying.

“So you’re the one who cooks?”

“Who else would cook?”

“Geno?” Muzz looks fully concerned now. “You two live together, right?”

“He has a house.” Which, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Sid realizes sounds like he’s dodging the question. Also, he can’t remember the last time Geno spent more than an hour at his house let alone the night. He’ll sometimes stop by to make sure the cleaning service has been by and if his Russian buddies stay he’ll go hang out with them, but he always comes home to Sidney.

Fuck.

He’s been quietly freaking out for months wondering when he and Geno were going to take the next step only to realize right now that they’ve  _ moved in together _ . And apparently the rookies think they’re  _ together  _ together. Or, at least Muzz does. 

“Riiight.” Muzz slants a look over at Sidney. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool.”

“There isn’t anything to talk about.”

Muzz lifts his eyebrows. Great, now Sid’s being judged by his back-up rookie. “It’s your business. I won’t pry. We just want you to know that we know and we’re okay with it.”

“We?”

“Yeah, the Wilkes Barre guys. After Flower’s Darcy bullshit, Shearsy wanted to ask about you and Geno’s story, but we figured you’re a private guy. If you wanted the story everywhere then it wouldn’t be.”

“We’re not Flower and Vero.”

“Of course not. You’re Sid and Geno.”

He says it so matter of factly. Sidney wrestles the stick from Muzz’s dog then tosses it again. Goalie and defenseman. Penguins for life. And apparently the kind of people who find each other their keys and kiss on the cheek before they leave the house. 

They’re his parents.

_ Fuck _ .

“Seriously.” Muzz curls a hand around Sid’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Just, uh, thinking about some things.”

“Dinner? You two...you aren’t fighting, are you?”

Sidney can’t help his laugh. “We haven’t fought since Bylsma was here. Geno and I are solid.” More than solid. He shakes himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not here to talk about me.”

“No?” It’s Muzz’s turn to crouch down and wrestle the stick from his dog. He chucks it near a cluster of bushes. “Isn’t that why we do this? To talk about ourselves? It’s okay to talk about Geno. 

“Let’s talk about the penalty kill.”

Muzz shrugs and rolls with it. “Okay.”

#

By the time they leave the park, Sid’s planned five different dinners, each more elaborate than the last then settles on takeout. He swings by the Russian place that Geno grudgingly admits is  _ okay _ even though it has nothing on his mom’s cooking and gets one of all Geno’s favorites. They can always put what they don’t eat in the fridge for tomorrow. 

When he gets home, Geno’s hovering by the island counter with his own stack of takeout containers, from the Italian place Sid loves. Sid looks at Geno’s takeout then his own then he cracks up laughing.

Geno laughs too, until he has to brush tears out of his eyes. “We both are very smart.”

“And kind of dumb.” Sid sets his backs on the counter. Even though all signs point to them being on the same page, his stomach still clenches, nervous. “I, uh, did a thing before I left.”

Geno grins because he’s an asshole. “A thing?” He tsks. “English is so imprecise.”

Sid flips him off, but his smile returns. “Look, all I have to say is that if we went straight to boring and domestic and skipped the fun getting to know each other sex then I’m going to be a little annoyed.”

Geno’s grin shifts into something more heated as he rounds the counter. Sid takes a step forward to meet him and laughs as they bump into each other. Geno sighs. “I’m trying to be smooth, Sid.”

“You’re very smooth,” Sid promises. “That was a cute little nap trick you pulled.  _ Watch a show with me Sid. We won’t fall asleep. Oh, oops, I woke up with you in my arms _ .”

Geno pokes Sid’s stomach. “You kiss me on cheek and promise you’ll be home for dinner.”

“I’m home, aren’t I?”

Geno’s teasing smile slips into something more serious. He hooks his fingers through Sid’s belt loops so he can tug him closer. “Yes. Always come home to me.”

“Because you like me.” They’ve fallen into whatever this is without any kind of clear communication and maybe that’s what they needed to keep from spooking each other or themselves, but now that they’re here, Sid wants to make sure they’re on the same page. 

“Love you, Sid.”

This time, when Sid kisses Geno, he kisses him on the mouth. 

#

Sid shows up to practice the next morning feeling as if everything has changed, but his gear hangs where it always does. Flower cracks his same jokes and Tazer pulls Sid aside to talk about improvements they can make. He feels as if he stares at Geno too much but no one says anything or throws balled up tape at him so he must not. That or he always stares this much. He shelves that thought for another time.

Muzz gives him a thumbs up when he and Geno come in from the weight room together. Then things are back to normal. Still, a few times, during practice, the back of his neck prickles, and he looks up only to catch one of the Wilkes-Barre guys staring. At least Muzz was discreet. Shearsy wouldn’t know the meaning of the word if Sid handed him a dictionary. Every time there’s a pause in their drill,  Geno leans by Sid’s net to talk about what he saw and if there are any adjustments the d-core should make. And everytime Sid looks up, Shearsy is beaming at him.

He waits until he and Geno are home to say, “The kids know. Well, they think we’ve been together...I don’t know how long but longer than the truth.”

“We are together.” They’re in the kitchen, scrounging up a snack. Geno closes the fridge door so he has an unobstructed view of SIdney. “Teammates then friends now more. Always together.”

“Yeah but--”

Geno shakes his head. “Sidney Crosby, can never admit when wrong. Friendship first is important. Like Flower and Vero.”

“Sap.” Sid draws him in for a kiss. His heart beats double-time and his palms sweat, giddy for the first touch of their lips. He hopes ne never stops being this happy to kiss Geno. It’s a chaste kiss and when Geno tries to deepen it, Sid ruins it by laughing.

Geno pulls back, disgruntled, but Sid can’t stop laughing. “Like Flower and Vero, eh?” He leans dramatically against the island counter. “ _ Oh, Mr. Darcy _ .”

Geno tries to glare but he gives into laughter after only a few seconds. 

#

They go on a tear at the end of the season, ramping up with each game. Sid hates how they’re down to the wire on whether or not they make the playoffs, but there’s something to be said for winning out the end of the season. This is the momentum they need to bring into the postseason.

Sid’s backed them to five straight wins when he takes a knee to the head. One moment he’s slapping his glove down on the puck, the next he’s on his back staring up at the stadium lights. They’re too fucking bright. He turns his head and Geno’s there. Sid smiles at him but it falters when the trainer crouches down next to him. “Hey, Sid.”

“Aw, shit.”

“Memory’s good. I still need to take you to the dark room.”

Sid wants to protest, but there’s a headache building behind his eyes and when he looks past the trainer he sees Muzz preparing on the bench. “Okay.”

Geno helps him to his skates and keeps a hand on his elbows as they skate towards the bench. He stops when they pass Muzz without Sid having to ask. 

“You’ve got this,” Sidney tells him. 

Muzz nods and taps Sid’s skate with his paddle. “Rest up. I’ll keep us going.”

Geno stays on the ice as Sid and the trainer troop down to the dark room. His stomach roils as he enters the room, but he thinks it’s more from the memories of past concussions. His head feels better than it did last time. He definitely isn't 100% and even though he’s tempted to lie, he answers all the questions truthfully.

It means he doesn’t emerge from the dark room for a long time. After the questions and tests, he lies down and closes his eyes. Every once in a while, he’ll get an update on the game. They were up by one when Sid left, and they never relinquish the lead. It’s easier for him to relax knowing that the team has everything in hand.

_ And if I’m out long term? What if Muzz plays so well they realize they don’t need me? _

By the time Geno retrieves him from the dark room, Sid’s convinced he’s being traded if this is a long term injury. He slaps Geno’s hands away when he tries to support him. “I don’t need to be coddled. I’m fine.”

Geno pauses outside the room. He looks supremely unimpressed. “You want to say hi to team or are you too grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy.” Sid sighs and leans into Geno. “I fucking hate this.”

“I know.” Geno winds a careful arm around Sid’s waist. “Team promises to be quiet.”

“I should tell Muzz he did well. He must’ve since we won.”

“Hags and Phil both scored. Me too. Power play.”

Sid pats his chest. “Good. This feels like a mild one. I’ll be back for the playoffs. Make sure we get in, okay?”

“You’ll be with us,” Geno promises.

Geno keeps an arm around Sid’s waist as he opens the locker room door. As soon as the team realizes it’s Sidney, they quiet down. It’s unnatural, a locker room this silent. He musters up a smile. “Good job on the win.”

“You started us off right,” Kuni says.

Flower gives him a hug then Kuni. Tazer taps his fist against Sid’s shoulder. Sidney makes the rounds, slowly, Geno at his side the whole time. When he reaches Muzz he leans in to rest their foreheads against each other the way he would after a game.

“Good job,” Sid tells him. “Keep it up, eh?”

“We’ll still be playing when you’re ready to come back.”

#

Geno drives them home then insists on going inside first so he can dim all the lights.

“It’s not that bad,” Sidney says but he appreciates not having to squint in his own home. He eats a bland dinner to be on the safe side then heads upstairs to bed. Geno follows him even when Sid protests that it’s to early for him to go to bed too.

Geno just shushes him and puts an empty trash can by the bed.

“I don’t need that.”

Geno shrugs. “Just in case.”

#

He doesn’t puke during the night, and he doesn’t puke in the morning, both good signs. He has to wear sunglasses, because the world is still too bright, but it’s better than having a constant headache.

He rides into practice with Geno then they part ways, Geno to the locker room and Sid to the trainers. He watches practice and takes notes on what they need to tighten up in this last stretch. He presents the list to Sully who refuses to take it.

“I think it would mean more coming from you.”

“You’re really pushing this  _ voices in the room _ thing.”

Sully shrugs. “If you have some time tomorrow I’d like to talk about a potential line change.”

“Oh?”

“I want to try Tazer, Sheary, and Horny together.”

“No one would out work them, that’s for sure.” They’d frustrate the hell out of opponents, relentless until they wore the defense down.

“That’s what I like about it. Plus, it puts Flower with Schiefele and--” Sully cuts himself off with a sheepish smile. “It can wait for tomorrow.”

Sid spots Geno out of the corner of his eye. He’s hovering, poised to intervene, and when Sid notices him, he strides forward as if he just happened upon them. Sid barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Are you here to take me home?”

“Time to rest. We’ll stop for soup.”

Sidney wrinkles his nose. Ever since he lost his mask in a game then took a puck to the face and shattered his jaw, he hasn’t liked soup.

“Russian soup, hearty and filling. No need for…” Geno mimics Sid’s face.

“You just want to get your favorite takeout.”

_ Who me?  _ Geno’s expression asks.

Sid draws breath to give Geno a hard time before he remembers they have an audience. He spares a glance at Sully who’s watching their exchange, fond. “Uh, we’re going to head out.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sully says. “Rest up. Both of you.”

#

Sidney hates watching games from the press box. He has a better view, sure, but it means there isn’t even a sliver of a chance he’ll play. At least when he’s back-up, he’s with the team. He can laugh at Flower’s antics and bark at the defense and listen to Sully’s pep talks and speeches. Stuck up here, there isn’t anything to do but watch and he can’t even share his observations until intermission.

At least they’re winning. Muzz then Tishy then Muzz again.

Then they play Philly.

Sid campaigned to start the game, but Sully told him since it was the final game of the season, they didn’t want to risk anything. They’d rest him utni the playoffs. Sid’s argument was interrupted by a dizzy spell.

He sat while Muzz played.

Then Muzz was run by Radko fucking Gudas and Tishy went in for him.

“It’s just my groin,” Muzz tells Sid after the game. “Just a tweak.”

“I told you to quit slacking on your stretching.”

It’s a weak joke but Muzz laughs, proving that he’s a good kid.

#

Tishy’s their starter going into the first game of the playoffs with Muzz backing him up. He isn’t 100% but apparently his not-100% is better than Sidney’s.

“I feel good,” he tells Sullivan after their coach announces the line-up to the team. “If Muzz plays then he’ll hurt himself more.”

“He won’t need to play. Tishy’s a good goalie, and the boys know what they need to do.”

_ It’s the Rangers. If we can’t win when I’m in goal how are we going to do it with our third-string guy? _ “I can do it.”

“I know you can. Whether you were injured or healthy, this was always the plan.”

Sid’s brain screeches to a halt. “What?”

“The playoffs are hard because they’re a grind. They wear teams down. I have two strong goaltenders so why not use that to our advantage? You won’t lose your edge resting through the opening round, and you’ll be better rested than the other team’s goalie. Let Tishy and Muzz win the first round for us. You’re our guy the rest of the way.”

“But--”  _ that’s not how it’s done. _

“We’re setting a new trend. Hockey is stuck in its routines. We’re shaking it up. Take another week to heal. Round two is yours.”

Sidney takes a deep breath. It would be stupid to trust his coach all season then doubt him when it matters the most. He chances a small smile. “Setting me up for success?”

Sully matches his smile. “Exactly.”

#

Tishy steals Game 1 for them, showing up Henrik Lundqvist.

They drop Game 2 and Muzz is given the Game 3 start with Tishy backing him up.

“I don’t get it,” Tishy says.

They’re at Sid’s for goalie dinner. Geno’s at Gonch’s, no doubt spoiling the girls and giving his mentor a hard time.

“It should be you,” Tishy continues, the Game 2 loss heavy on his shoulders. 

“You won us Game 1,” Sid reminds him. “The way we played, we didn’t deserve to win. That was all on you. But the goalie can’t win a whole series. The guys needed a wake-up call and this is it. They better get their shit together for Game 3; play some defense and score some damn goals. You and Muzz are the tandem that will beat the Rangers. Everyone who matters believes it.”

“So...you and Coach.” Muzz grins, at ease with the pressure that’s been dropped on him.

“Milbury thinks you’re afraid of the Rangers,” Tishy says.

“Mike Milbury once threw a shoe at someone. I don’t listen to a thing he says.” Sid plates their steaks and they stay outside because the weather is gorgeous. There’s a giant salad already on the table, and he loads up his plate.

“But you’re okay?” Muzz asks.

Muzz wasn’t here for the worst of Sid’s injuries; the broken jaw after a play gone bad or the concussions that kept him out for almost a whole season, but he looks haunted by the memory of them just the same. “I’m fine,” Sid promises with a long look at both his teammates. “This was the plan all along. You both have earned this. Unless,  _ you’re  _ afraid the Rangers.”

Muzz scoffs. “Lundqvist has nothing on us.”

“That’s the right attitude to have.” Sid gently kicks Tishy under the table. “You got us the first win. We needed it. Now, the team needs to get their acts together and win the next three for you.”

“For Muzz,” Tishy corrects.

“For us,” Muzz says.

#

Sid’s guests clear out before Geno comes home, loose and happy, which means he must’ve had a good time playing with the girls. His hair is in disarray, spiked in every direction, and Sid can’t wait for Gonch to show him the pictures of the girls playing hairdresser. Geno’s smile slips into a scowl when he spots the dishes in the drying rack.

“Not this again,” Sidney says. He just spent the past three hours shoring up his goalies. He doesn’t need Geno to undo all that hard work.

“Your head is better.” Geno slides his hands through Sid’s hair as if he’s looking for bumps or tender spots. “You should be in net.”

“I’m better,” Sidney promises. This isn’t like last time when he thought he could play through a headache they way he could play through tight muscles or a tweaked ankle. “But I’m not playing until Round 2. You better make sure we make it there.”

Geno pulls back enough for Sid to see the glitter of determination in his eyes. “We will.”

#

They win Game 3 then chase Lundqvist out of his net in Game 4, pushing the Rangers to the brink of elimination. Spirits are high, the vets boosted by their success and the young kids too new to remember being bounced by the Rangers over and over.

Even Sid’s mood has improved, because he’s on the verge of playing again. He’s healthy, he’s practicing, and next round he’ll face the Capitals or the Flyers, two teams which always bring his best out of him. 

He tries not to look too far ahead, they’re up in the series against the Rangers, but they haven’t won yet.The Rangers aren’t beaten until they’ve lost four, and they’re a strong team backed by an even stronger goaltender. 

But Game 4 broke Lundqvist. He gives up six goals in Game 5 then sits on the bench for the third period as Raanta takes over. The back-up doesn’t allow a single goal, but the damage is done. The Penguins win 6-3 on home ice, and Sid whoops from the press box as his team descends on Muzz as soon as the buzzer sounds.

He rushes down to ice level so he can be a part of the handshake line. It’s different than last year when he met Lundqvist’s gaze, furious that he’d fallen short against the older goaltender once again. This year, he can’t even be smug that his team won, because he didn’t dress for a single game. He won’t pity him either, because it’s an insult to his career.

Instead, they shake hands, as cordial as two people can be in an elimination handshake. 

As soon as they’re free of the line, the Penguins descend into excitement again. Shouts and cheers, hugs and backslaps. They make it to the locker room and someone starts a _ Mr. Game One  _ chant that the whole team picks up until Tishy is flushed pink, head ducked, but a smile on his face. 

They pile into a local bar to celebrate, rowdy and loud, but the city loves them too much to care. They don’t drink a lot, because they’ve only made it through one round and no matter who they face it’ll be a battle, but they do have a good time.

Even Tazer, who approaches every minute as a challenge to be the best he can be, loosens up. There are a handful of them who remember what it’s like to win, and all of them know what it’s like to lose. They’re learned to celebrate their wins. Even if it isn’t the Finals, they can’t get there without winning the first three rounds. 

Sidney drinks his beer and giggles at Phil’s jokes even though he doesn’t have the excuse of being drunk. He holds his cool bottle against his warm cheeks and leans close to Geno and lets his team’s joy wash over him.

He had to watch this series, but he’ll be there for the next one. Geno squeezes his side as if he knows or, maybe more likely, that he’s determined to drag Sidney back into the playoffs and he’ll fight anyone who argues. 

They head out before last call after signing things for the staff and accepting the congratulations from every Pittsburgher they see. Sid and Geno slide into a cab and sit carefully against the doors, space for an entire person between them. It doesn’t stop the heated looks they through each other or they Geno grins, slow and full of promise. Sid shivers and looks out the window, wishing the driver would go faster.

As soon as they’re inside, Geno shuts the front door with a heavy thud and pushes Sid up against it. “We win,” he says. “You’re back with us. You promise.”

“Yeah.” It comes out more like a sigh. Sid curls a hand around Geno’s shoulder and another around his hip. “You did so good, G. Chased Lundqvist right out of his net then did it again the next game. That fucking bomb in Game 5…”

“I know you like when I’m score.”

He does and he refuses to be embarrassed by it. There isn’t a single person on their team who doesn’t like watching good hockey or a single player who doesn’t get fired up after making a play like that. And now Sid gets to reap the benefits. 

“You tell me to score, I score. You tell me to win, I win.”

Sid’s pinned in place against the door, but Geno’s the one with a searching expression in his gaze as if he’s looking for Sid’s approval. It’s similar to the way Geno looks after clearing the crease or blocking a shot; a glance over his shoulder at Sid as if to make sure that Sid noticed and approves. 

And, well, Sid’s all about rewarding good behavior. “Upstairs and I’ll show you how much I liked it.”

Geno doesn’t need anymore encouragement than that. He grabs Sid’s hand then pulls him upstairs as if he’s afraid Sid will get lost on the way. Sid’s laughing as he shuts the bedroom door behind him, and he laughs even harder when Geno pouts at him, too exaggerated for him to actually be annoyed. 

He tugs at Geno’s pants. “Takes these off and get on the bed.”

“Bossy,” Geno says but he looks delighted as he shucks his pants then, at a nod from Sid, his boxers too. He leaves his shirt on, which is for the best, because Sid would get distracted by his bruises or how skinny he’s looking when they’ve only made it through one round.

He’s almost distracted by it while Geno’s still in his T-shirt, except that Geno sprawls across the bed, legs spread wide, and that’s all Sid can focus on. He climbs onto the bed and Geno spreads his legs wider as if Sid was going to settle anywhere else. 

He also, helpfully, reaches into the draw to grab their bottle of lube. He twists to reach it, rucking up his shirt. Sid brushes his thumb over Geno’s hipbone then over the dusting of hair on his thighs. With his free hand, he takes the lube then has to stop touching Geno so he can squeeze a dollop into his palm. 

He slides his hand down Geno’s cock, and huffs out a small laugh at Geno’s flinch against the chilled lube. “You’re a hockey player. I thought you were tough.”

“Plenty tough.” Geno’s voice is already rough around the edges, and they’ve barely even started. He looks at Sid through lowered lashes. “Thought you were nice.”

“Sometimes.” But Sid circles his thumb around the tip of Geno’s cock the way he likes as an apology. Then he slides his hand down, tightening his fist. Geno hitches his hips up, and Sid strokes him a few times before he starts talking. “You wanted me to tell you how much I liked your goal.”

_ Now?  _ Geno’s incredulous expression seems to say.

“I love watching you on the ice. Sometimes, I wish I could jump in on a rush with you, but I like being in my net better, because I can watch you as much as I want. They scored first then we tied it then they scored and we tied it again. Your goal is the one that broke them.”

He circles his thumb again, makes no secret that he’s rewarding Geno for a good play and the ruthlessness that led to it. Then, holding Geno’s gaze, he dips his head until he can press a kiss to the tip of Geno’s cock. 

Geno groans, and his eyes flutter but don’t shut as if he doesn’t want to lose sight of Sidney. Sid grins then slides his mouth down. Geno groans again. His hips twitch, but he doesn’t thrust up. Sid pats his hip, an absent minded thank you. Then he closes his eyes and takes more of Geno’s cock.

Geno’s hands reach for Sid’s shoulders, touching but not gripping. He makes a dissatisfied sound when he touches fabric instead of skin, but Sid isn’t pulling back just so he can take his shirt off. Besides, Geno slides his hands up Sid’s neck then weave through his hair. 

Sid grins then hollows his cheeks. Geno’s hands tighten into fists, but he doesn’t tug. Sid takes it as a challenge. He speeds up, bobbing his head, only pausing to flick his tongue over the tip of Geno’s cock. Geno shifts beneath him, restless, and his cock throbs, heavy now against Sid’s tongue.

Geno starts shaking his head. Now, he pulls Sid’s hair. “No, not yet. Sid--”

Sid seals his lips around the head of Geno’s cock and sucks until Geno pulls his hair as hard as Sid likes. He’s babbling in a mix of English and Russian, and Sid takes pity, sort of. He curls one hand over Geno’s hip and wraps the other, loose, around the base of his cock. 

He glances up, best as he can from this angle, and Geno shakes his head, but he doesn’t pull at Sid’s hair. He doesn’t even breathe, and Sid grins, a quick flash of a smile before he takes Geno all the way down until his lips meet his fist. He feels the tremble in Geno’s thighs, a good sign that he’s close. Sid bobs his head, once, twice then, as Geno’s whole body tenses up, he squeezes his fist tight around the base of Geno’s cock. 

Geno swears at him in Russian, his body bowing, his breath catching as his body chases a release Sid denies him. Sid pulls off, smug but not satisfied. His blood pulses, something restless beneath his skin. 

He rises up on his knees until he towers over Geno. There’s nothing friendly in his expression, but Geno doesn’t shy away. Sid drags his thumb across Geno’s bottom lip. “I told you to score and you scored. I told you to win and you won. What else would you do for me?”

“Anything.”

Sid’s eyes glitter, and his gaze falls to Geno’s neck then his hipbone then lower. He brushes his thumb over Geno’s inner thigh where his hair is finer and the skin is smoother and more sensitive. He glances up, a question, and Geno nods.

Sid bends down and bites, teeth pressing a claim to Geno’s skin. Because Geno would do anything, all Sid has to do is ask. He kisses the red mark he leaves behind them moves up to kiss Geno on the mouth. His kiss is sharp, and his hands push impatiently as Geno’s shirt, because he wants to touch as much of him as possible. 

He curls his fist around Geno’s cock, loose now. “Can I?” he asks. 

“Why such a rush?” Geno’s English comes slower now, and Sid wants to make him lose it entirely. 

He slides his thumb over the thick vein that runs along Geno’s cock then gently digs his nail into it. Geno squirms but doesn’t knock Sid’s hand away. “I’m not in a rush.”

Geno lifts his eyebrows.

Sidney shrugs. “You can come twice in one night, can’t you?”

Geno groans as he lets his head thud against the pillow. “Kill me, Sid.”

Sid tips Geno’s chin down until they’re looking at each other again. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Sidney’s smile sharpens. 

#

He always forgets how  _ fast  _ the playoffs are until he’s back in them. It doesn't help that he didn’t play the last stretch of the regular season. Instead of being sharp after his rest, he’s a step behind. He spends the whole first period scrambling. He’s lucky he only lets in the one goal by Oshie, because they could easily be down by three going into intermission. 

He keeps the worst of his frustration off his face, because he refuses to drag the team down with him anymore than he already has. He sits in his stall and closes his eyes, visualizing how it feels to move when he’s at the top of his game.

After the second period, the score is 2-2, another Oshie goal, but at least Tazer tied it up in the waning seconds.

“You didn’t let Ovechkin score,” Muzz says.

Despite two power plays, one of which was complete bullshit. Sid cracks a smile. “Now I just have to figure out Oshie. Maybe Tazer has some tips.”

They look over at their captain. He’s talking to the young guys, his voice low and monotone, but there’s a spark in his eyes as he talks. Sid’s too far away to hear what he says, but it must’ve been a hell of a pep talk, because the kids fly in the third.

Shift after shift they battle and breakout and it’s all Holtby and the Caps can do to keep up with them. Shearsy scores, top shelf, and the team swarms him. Sid taps his paddle against his goal post.

Orpik scores a power play goal to tie it late in the third. He skates by Sid’s net with a smirk. “Just like old times.”

Geno growls, ready to throw a punch. Anger simmers under Sid’s skin, and he flips the puck to Orpik. “That’s what, ten for you this season? Big milestone.”

Orpik laughs, low and mean, but Geno doesn’t get himself booted from the game with a misconduct so Sid counts it as a win.

The game goes to overtime, and TJ fucking Oshie scores the OT game winner. Sid leads his team off the ice as hats rain down. One hits him, and he thinks about chucking it back into the stands, but tantrums are Lundqvist’s thing not his. Instead, he storms down to the locker room to strip down. One loss in a 7-game series isn’t the end of the world, but it isn’t the start he wants.

It doesn’t help when every reporter leads with Muzz’s 3-for-3 playoff record. Most of the reporters think Sully should stick with the hot goalie. The rest think Sid should be given one more start but if he loses Game 2 then he should be replaced. 

“You’re our guy,” Sully tells him.

_ Then I better fucking play like it. _

#

The jeers start the moment Sid takes the ice for warm-ups. They chant his name, tell him he sucks and probably a dozen more things he’s glad he can’t hear. He blocks it all out and focuses. He and Muzz stretch together then take turns in net as the guys take easy shots. He makes a save on Geno and the crowd behind him cheers.

Geno snarls and Sid switches out with Muzz so he can talk his d-man down. “Nothing stupid. You can’t fight the crowd.” He waits for Geno’s scowl to deepend before he adds, “but you can shut them up.”

“Score?”

Sid grins. “Score. Maybe block one or two of Ovie’s shots.”

“I need my shins.  _ You  _ stop.”

Sidney laughs and, already feeling better, bumps Geno’s shoulder. “We’re ready for this.”

#

Sid snaps an Ovechkin bomb out of the air in a showy, but not particularly difficult, save. He smirks at Orpik. “Just like old times, eh?”

Orpik takes a menacing step forward, but G’s there to block his path. Deciding that one Penguin is as bad as another, he gives Geno a shove. Geno shoves him back then a scrum breaks out. Sid skates away from the mess he caused and watches it get worse. 

“Really, Crosby?” Wes McCauley asks.

Sid shrugs and the referee wades into the tussle to pull guys apart. When it’s all said and done, it’s 4-on-4. There’s more space which makes it easier for Sid to see the puck, but it also means there are fewer bodies to block the puck’s path to the net. 

The Pens stay in the offensive zone for most of the two minutes, but they don’t have a goal to show for it. 

They go down to intermission still tied a zero, but Sid isn’t worried about it. He feels settled in his crease this game. He can keep the puck out until his team scores.

#

And they do score. Hags off Bones and Phil midway through the second period.

Sid smiles behind his mask and lifts his paddle to them as the crowd groans. Then he hunkers down in his goal and prepares for a strong shift by the Caps.

He holds strong even after a barrage of shots from their defense. They troop down to the visitors’ locker room up by one. No one is overconfident, but the mood is light. 

Muzz sits next to Sid, calm and steady as everyone else buzzes around them. 

“You look better,” Muzz says. “Like,” he gestures to Sid’s face. “Stoning Ovechkin really makes your day.”

“We’ve been pitted against each other since we were rookies.” The Canadian wonder-goalie and the Russian goal scorer. It was a reporter’s wet dream. They’ve never tried too hard to shake the narrative. They both like the challenge too much and it’s not like they see each other often enough to be friendly. “And I like winning.”

#

It’s Washington’s turn to score midway through the third period. It’s a power play goal, a blast from Carlson that Sid gets a piece of then Johansson gets the rest of. The crowd explodes with noise, back in the game thanks to a trip by Tanger then a missed save by Sid.

As Tanger skates out of the box he looks down the ice towards Sid. Sid meets his gaze evenly, not forgiving him but not blaming him either. Then he scuffs up his crease and uses his paddle to brush the ice shavings away. 

Did he just blow his chance to start next game? He needed the team to score a goal and they did then he erased their hard work by letting Johansson’s shot slip through. Maybe…

_ No _ .

He puts the play behind him. The score is even again now. All he has to do is keep the puck out, and his team will win this.

_ Like you did last game? _

Sid takes a deep breath as Tazer takes his place across the faceoff dot from Backstom. By the time the puck drops, he’s settled again. 

He fends off a drive by Oshie and a slapper from Niskanen, and he neatly directs a Kuznetsov shot to the corner where Fehr picks it up. 

Late in the third period, Fehr scores. Sid punches his blocker in the air, celebrating the best he can from his end of the ice. The guys cycle through the fist bump line then Geno skates to Sid’s net. 

“Assist for me,” he says. 

Sid whacks him with his paddle, but he laughs too much to mean it as a reprimand. “Now help me defend our net.”

Geno pats the crossbar then Sid’s shoulder. “We win this one.”

#

And they do.

#

The series is tied as they head back to Pittsburgh. It was a narrow, 2-1 victory, and Sidney’s far from redeemed in the eyes of the media, but he doesn’t care what they think. He has his first win, and he knows he can get his second. 

They have a light practice on the first then afterward Sid’s happy to go home and take a nap. It doesn’t take any coaxing to convince Geno upstairs with him, and they both strip down to T-shirts and boxers before climbing into bed.

Sid traces a deep, dark bruise on Geno’s thigh. “Shot block?”

“Worth it.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “That isn’t what I asked.” And of course it was worth it. It’s all worth it; the muscle pulls and the fractured bones, the bruises and the missing teeth. The creaking knees and aching joints, everything is worth it the moment they lift the Cup.

He wants to lift it again. So much as happened since the first one, back when he thought losing Mario was the toughest thing he’d have to play through. He’s battled through concussions, suffered through a liquid only diet, pushed his body beyond its limits and then some. And, in the worst of that one year, he thought he might never play again.

Geno strokes his thumb across Sid’s jaw as if he’s thinking about the same things. Then he touches Sid’s temples, featherlight.

“I’m okay,” Sid promises. It doesn’t stop him from touching Geno’s knee and feeling the smooth skin from his surgical scar. 

They both have had low moments, but they’re both here in the second round, playing for a chance to be in the Eastern Conference Final. 

“I’m okay too,” Geno promises.

They aren’t, no one ever plays at 100%, but they can still give 100%, and that will have to be good enough.

#

Their home crowd welcomes them back to Pittsburgh with thunderous applause and loud cheers. The stands are filled with people in gold T-shirts. A lot of them lift signs above their heads, hoping to be noticed. Sid waves but doesn't look, unable to afford the distraction. He goes through his warm-up routine, comforting himself with familiar stretches and drills until he’s ready. 

He and Muzz bump blockers then helmets before Sid turns to Geno for the most important of his routines. Flower once joked that Geno better not start anything he couldn’t commit to. Geno just smiled and said, “Penguin for life,” years before he and Sid made the promise to each other.

They do their special handshake and Sid’s finally ready.

#

They win both games at home then fly to DC with Washington on the brink of elimination. The Caps manage to hold on, and the series returns to Pittsburgh. 

The fans greet their return with excitement, hoping to see the series clinched on home ice. The reporters predict that Muzz will start Game 7 if there is one.

Sid shoves it all out of his head and focuses on the game.

And he needs to. The Caps have a jump in their stride to start the game. One wave after another, each line peppers Sid with shots. He stops Kuznetsov, fights off Oshie, sprawls to keep a Backstrom shot out. One shot goes off the knob of his stick, another he barely gets his skate on. Finally, the puck clangs off the crossbar and out of play.

Sid tips his mask up and sprays his face with water as Flower coos at the crossbar.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sid knocks Flower’s hand away because he’s  _ petting  _ it. Seriously, Sid’s a goalie and even he doesn’t do that.

“We’ll be better,” Dales says.

Geno nods then glares at the crossbar as if he thinks he’s being shown up by Sid’s net.

They do help him out more in the defensive zone after that, but what they need is offense. Sid can keep the puck out, but he can’t score. Two periods pass with the score still tied at zero. He can imagine what the broadcasters are saying. How Washington’s goal will be “inevitable” and tsking over the Pens lack of drive.

And then Sid shuffles the puck to Rusty who takes it and  _ goes _ . He streaks up the ice, dodges Niskanen then flicks the puck past Holtby.

1-0.

The rink explodes with noise, the fans leaping to their feet as the goal horn goes off. But through the noise, he can hear Sully’s pleased, “Atta boy, Rusty”.

Unable to stay still, Sid skates around his net, a giant smile on his face. He’s serious again once the puck is dropped at center ice. The Caps comes harder somehow, fueled by being down in an elimination game.

Sid does the splits, flings an arm out like a starfish, belly flops on the puck. He’s pushed and jabbed and some fucker even trips him but he stacks his pads in time to block a low shot. 

It’s enough, though. 

When the buzzer sounds to end the game, it’s 2-0 off a second goal by Rusty. The fans have been on their feet for the last ten minutes. so loud Sid’s amazed they haven’t lost their voices. He makes the final play of the game, rocketing the puck down the ice for what would’ve been an icing if the horn didn’t sound. 

Time runs out, and his teammates around around him. Dales knocks into him first, laughing and grabbing him by the shoulders. Shearsy worms his way in then Rusty. Everyone’s laughing and yelling, shucking equipment then they part like the Red Sea and Geno’s there. He grabs Sid’s face between his hands, his gloves somewhere on the ice. He brings their foreheads together, and his face is so much closer when neither of them are wearing helmets.

Sid’s lips tingle hoping for a kiss he know won’t come until later. 

“We win,” Geno says.

“Team effort.” Sid pats Geno’s hip then breaks away from him to clap Tazer on the back.

They have to pause their celebrating for the handshake line. Sid tones down his smile, but he knows there’s a spark in his eyes that he can’t, and doesn’t want to, dim. They won this series, and he knows how shitty it is to be on the Caps side of things which is why he’s so happy to be on this side of it.

Tazer leads the line, his shoulders straight and, knowing him, a grim look of determination on his face. He meets Ovechkin and they shakes hands, exchange a few words then move on. 

Sid’s the last of the players, Muzz in front of him and Geno in front of him. There’s a long pause as Geno and Ovechkin meet, the two Russians gripping each other’s hands tight. Ovechkin curls his hand around Geno’s neck and says something in Russian. Geno says something back, pats Ovechkin’s chest then they separate.

One handshake later and it’s Sid facing Ovechkin. The Russian captain looks tired, his usual fire gone from his eyes. Sid never knows what to do here. Saying  _ you tried  _ is either bitchy or pitying, and both warrant being punched. Saying nothing seems haughty. 

He shakes Ovechkin’s hand and Ovechkin surprises him by pulling him in for a hug.

“Win it all,” Ovechkin tells him. “If you can stop me, everyone else will be easy.”

Surprised again, Sid laughs. He pats Ovechkin’s back and says the only comforting thing he can, “You lost to the best team in the League.”

Ovechkin nods then they each move on.

Once the handshake line is over, it’s just their team again and they all pile on each other. Sid’s lost amongst the rookies, but he doesn’t care.

They’re going to the Eastern Conference Final.

#

They trade games with the Lightning until the series is tied 3-3. They staved off elimination in Tampa, winning 5-2 for a chance to advance at home.

The day before the game, Sid paces in their living room. The only question anyone is asking is  _ who’s getting the start _ and Sully’s giving them all the same answer. Game time decision.

Sid knows the real answer. He’s starting Game 7. He’s the guy. That’s what Sully has promised from the beginning and now he’s following it through. Win or lose tomorrow night, it’s on Sid. In a past year, that kind of pressure might’ve been too much, enough to slip into his head and affect his play.

But this year, he knows he deserves the start, and he knows that his shoulders are broad enough to carry the responsibility. His coach knows it too. 

“You’re ready,” Geno says.

Geno’s always believed it. Sid stops pacing and looks over at the couch where Geno is stretched out, legs reaching towards the far end and his arms across the back. He spreads his legs then waggles his eyebrows in case Sid didn’t get the invitation. 

“We have a big game tomorrow.”

“Oh yes, I forget.” Geno rolls his eyes. “Stop wasting energy and come cuddle. I promise not even to kiss you.”

“Your offer is getting worse and worse,” Sid says but he does sit in the space between Geno’s legs. He leans back against Geno’s chest and lets out a deep breath. “I am ready. We all are.” 

One more win and they’re in the Stanley Cup Final for only the third time in Sid’s career. He’s one-for-two in the Finals. This year he might--

No.

His entire focus has to be on this game or they won’t make it through. He can think about after once it’s done. 

He turns so he’s facing Geno. He grins as he dips his head to press a kiss to Geno’s neck, high up where his playoffs scruff is coming in scraggly. It’s a light brush of his lips, enough make Geno squirm because he’s ticklish and terrible at hiding it. 

Geno gets a good grip on Sid’s hair and holds him still to return the favor, but Sid puts two fingers against Geno’s lips to stop him. “You promised you wouldn’t kiss me.” He grins then kisses the corner of Geno’s lips. Pouty is a good look for him. 

“ _ Sid _ .” Geno groans, frustrated but a little turned on, the way he gets when Sid sets down firm rules. It sends a shudder down Sid’s spine every time. 

“You’re the one who said it not me. Are you a liar, G?”

Geno shakes his head.

Sid rewards him with a kiss to his cheek. He slips a hand inside Geno’s shorts until he can cup his palm over the bulge there. He squeezes and Geno hisses out a breath, but he pushes his hips up into Sid’s touch. Sid does it again and this time Geno curls his hands into fists.

“You can touch me,” Sid says. “Unless you want to lie there and let me do all the work.”

It’s a challenge and a dare at the same time. Sid would honestly be happy no matter which one Geno picked. If Geno wants to touch him then he’ll pull his shirt over his head and let him touch. But if he picks the second…

Slowly, with an almost painful expression on his face, Geno lifts his arms above his head, and Sid’s expression sharpens into a smile. 

#

There’s a moment before a hockey game officially starts where Sid’s in his net and, if he looks across the ice, he can see the opposing goalie in his net. He and Vasilevsky are both crouched in their crease, ready for the next sixty minutes. Vasilevsky is younger, but Sid’s better rested. 

Their staring contest is broken up as Stamkos and Tazer line up across the dot.

Sidney takes a deep breath then lets it out as the puck is dropped.

Here they go.

#

The first period is  _ fast _ . It’s breakaways and odd-man rushes on either side, and Sid has to be sharp, because one moment Pittsburgh is building good momentum in the offensive zone and the next Kucherov is streaking down the ice at him.

Then Geno takes an interference penalty and it takes everything Sid has to keep the puck out of his net. 

Then he does it again.

And again.

At intermission, he sits in his stall, his elbows braced on his thighs and breathes deeply for what seems like the first time since puck drop. No one intrudes on his vigil except Muzz who sits next to him, silent, exactly what Sidney needs.

#

The team picks it up in the second period. Rust scores another elimination game goal to open the period. He scores a second to close it out. Drouin scored a goal between them and the second period ends 2-1 in the Penguins favor.

The third period passes without another goal and just like that, for the first time in seven years, the Pittsburgh Penguins are going to the Stanley Cup Finals.

#

“Nervous?” Geno asks once the excitement of being the Eastern Conference Champs dies down.

Sid opens his mouth then pauses as he considers the question. His answer is still the same. “I’m not nervous. I’m ready.”

Geno nods as if he feels the same way. “Time to show the kids  _ real  _ fun.”

Sid laughs, loose and happy as if their Game 7 win over the Lightning erased all the pressure of the playoffs. They still have another series left to play, but he’s been looking forward to this moment for years. Detroit taught him the heartbreak of losing in the Finals then, the next year, the joy of winning.

They haven’t battled and failed and worked and lost seasons to injury and coaches to disappointing finishes just to choke now that they've made it here again.

They’re four wins away from another title.

Sid has four wins left in him. And, looking at G, he does too.

#

They open the series at home in front of fans as excited as they are. The gold rush is out in full force, the stands full of people in the gold T-shirts handed out at the doors. 

Sid stretches where he always does, but he looks around as he goes through his set. He catches Flower’s gaze and grins. He taps Phil’s skates and gives him an encouraging smile. Kuni gets a butt tap.

“You’ve changed your routine,” Muzz says.

“Only a little. The team’s energy starts with us. I want them loose and excited. This right here is why all of us play, and it’s damn hard to make it this far. Enjoy it.”

“Thanks,  _ Dad _ .”

Sid cuffs his shoulder but laughs as he does. They keep things light during warm-ups, a direct contracts to the Sharks. Sid’s team is full of guys who know they can win. The Sharks are full of guys who are supposed to. It’s a subtle difference but in a League with this much parity it’s an important one.

Tazer has the last word before the game starts. “Whether you’ve been with this team for a long time, you’re new, or somewhere in between you know that it’s really fucking hard to get to where we are so let’s make the most of it.”

They cheer, voices rising together then melding with the crowd.

#

Tazer takes the first faceoff of the game. He wins it and leads the charge into the offensive zone. Flower gets him the puck just in time to stay onside. Their captain drives to the net, brushing off Sharks until he’s right on Jones’s doorstep.

He buries the puck, and the stadium fall silent for the time it takes to draw breath. Then it’s thunderous, loud enough to rattle Sid’s water bottle.

He hears Tazer’s, “And that’s how it’s fucking done!” as he skates through the fist bump line and chuckles to himself.

It’s a full line change for the next puck drop and Tanger skates over to tap Sid’s helmet. He joins the rest of the skaters for the faceoff and Sid hunkers down in his net.

#

The Sharks weren’t ready for Pittsburgh’s speed and they never recover from the first goal.

The game ends 3-1 with Sid facing the fewest number of shots he has all playoffs.

“It’s just one game,” Tazer says once they’re in the locker room, just them for the brief time before the media’s allowed in. “San Jose will make adjustments and we’ll have to adapt.” He cracks a smile. “But we fucking won Game 1. Three more to go.”

Three is far less daunting than four, especially since they know they can win. This team, the one they've built this season, they’ve won a game in the Finals. They can win another.

#

And they do.

As the horn sounds ending Game 2, Sid thinks  _ two wins away from another title. _

#

They fly to San Jose and have a day to get used to the heat and the time difference. It isn’t enough, but having a set game day routine mitigates a lot of the strangeness. The only time Sid cares about is relative to the game. 

He eats, practices, eats again, and naps in a bed that feels too big after sharing with Geno. When he wakes up, he eats yet again then it’s almost time to head to the rink.

By the time he’s in his gear, this could be any game.

Of course, as soon as he steps on San Jose ice, it’s obvious what this game is. The fans are loud, cheering their own team and booing the Penguins. They jeer Sid during warm-ups and take a gleeful delight in booing Geno and Phil.

“What did I ever do to fucking San Jose?” Phil asks.

Flower shrugs. “Maybe they think you’re Thornton.”

A couple of the guys laugh as they skate by to the blue line for the next rush.

#

Maybe, up by 2-0 they're too relaxed. Maybe the Sharks are inspired by their home crowd. Either way, the Pens drop Game 3, making the series 2-1.

2-0 always seems like such a safe lead, in a game or a series. Then the other team gets one and 2-1 feels completely different. The first thread of unease worms its way into Sid’s gut.

“We got cocky,” Tazer says. It’s a pointed blow, and Sid’s one of the few in the room who meets his gaze. “You think they don’t want it as badly as we do? Joe Thornton, Patrick Marleau, they’re like  _ eh, it’s just the Cup _ ? Wanting it isn’t enough. We have to actually show up and fucking play.”

There’s a beat of silence then Kuni says, “We’ll win the next one.”

The kids turn to him. almost desperate. Sid sits back as Kuni plays the gentle alternate to Tazer’s hardline captain. They complement each other well. Once they do their thing, Coach Sullivan talks to them.

Before the media comes in, Muzz nudges Sid. “You good?”

“Yeah.” The loss wasn’t on him. He would’ve liked to steal the game for them, but he didn’t. Once the media is over he’ll put the game behind him and look forward.

#

Geno falls into step with Sid on their way back to their rooms. They pass Geno’s room and Sid raises his eyebrows.

“Show?” Geno asks, hopeful.

“One episode,” Sid says.

“Of course.”

Sid slides his keycard into the door. He glances down the hall and accidentally makes eye contact with Shears who flashes him a thumbs up before disappearing into his room.

“What was that about?” Geno asks as he shuts Sid’s door behind them.

“I think he was being supportive.” Sid shrugs and pulls his shirt over his head. “I’m getting into my pajamas for this.”

“You falling asleep on me?” Geno teas.

“Yes.” He’s not ashamed of it, especially since he knows they’re not going to watch just one episode of their show. “Are you staying the night?”

Geno looks genuinely surprised. “You’re inviting me?”

“It wouldn’t be different from home. I mean, we’re in a hotel so it’s a little different, and maybe it’s stupid, but the team knows about us, and they aren’t telling. I just--”

“Miss me, Sid?”

Sid flushes because he does. They’re together almost all the time, and this tiny difference is enough to throw him off.The teasing smile slips from Geno’s face as he draws Sid in for a hug. “Me too.”

_ If we can’t handle separate hotel rooms then how will we make it through the summer? _

“Let me get pajamas and toothbrush. Don’t pick show while I’m gone. History puts me to sleep.”

Sid brushes his thumbs over the dark circles under Geno’s eyes. “You could use it.”

“Sleep better tonight.” He catches Sid’s hands and brings them to his lips, kissing the back of one then the other.

“Sap,” Sid accuses, but he’s smiling and, once Geno’s gone, he surfs the channels until he finds HGTV.

#

He’s not sure if sleeping with Geno was the difference, but they win Game 4 and bring the series home with a chance to win the Stanley Cup on home ice.

Tanger shows up to practice looking harried. “Catherine needed snacks for Alexander, and I thought I’d help out because we’re gone so much.” He shakes his head. “I should’ve given up when it took me fifteen minutes to get from the parking lot to the store.”

Sid learned that lesson a long time ago. The city supports them, but sometimes it’s too much. It almost makes him miss being on the road. Living out of a hotel with the team taking care of everything, he didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to risk going outside or wonder if he ought to do a few chores around the house.

There was hockey and preparing for hockey and that was it.

“Estelle missed me so she made me breakfast in bed,” Flower says. “At  _ six  _ in the morning.”

A couple of the older guys wince.

They prepare for Game 5, and they aren’t bad, but they aren’t sharp either. San Jose plays desperate and it shows. They win the 50-50 battles and score goals off grit and determination.

Tazer takes a penalty after they’re down by three then he takes another two.

After the game, it’s Sid who stands in front of his team. He doesn’t even have to clear his throat. They all fall silent as they look to him. “Every broadcaster, analyst, reporter, and coach is going to say the same thing about this game; San Jose played desperate. And they’re all right. The Sharks had an edge we didn’t match. Why?”

He looks around the room, disappointed when so few of his teammates meet his gaze. “We aren’t desperate to win? Why, because we’re up in the series? We’re on the edge of winning  _ the Stanley Cup _ . That should make us desperate. But maybe you need more.”

He walks up to Horny. “Last pick of the draft and you aren’t desperate to win?” He turns to Sheary next. “You weren’t even drafted. Too short they all said. You’re not desperate to show them how fucking wrong they were?” To Tazer, “The captain who got lucky with his first win is he really a leader, though?” Tazer meets Sid’s gaze unflinchingly. “We’ve won the Cup before. Does that mean you don’t want to do it again? He looks around the room. “Every single one of us have a reason to play desperate. Channel that energy in our next game. When you’re tired, think about Toronto throwing you out of town. When you’re battling for the puck, remember Don Cherry calling all Russians lazy. Find your reason and play for it.”

There’s a long silence after Sid’s speech.

Kuni’s the one to break it. “What about you, Sid? What’re you fueled by?”

More than one of his teammates glance at Muzz. The young goalie doesn’t react except for a straightening of his shoulders as if he’s ready for Sid to say he’s playing for his spot. But Sid looks over at Geno, and his throat tightens with memories he’s done his best to put behind him. “All those days trapped in my fucking room with the blinds drawn and a puke bucket next to y bed. I’m fueled by every time I wondered if I’d get back on the ice again. Well, I did and now we’re in the Stanley Cup Final, and we’re one win away from being the champions.”

“For Sid,” Kuni says, standing up.

“For Duper,” Flower adds.

“For Tishy who started us off right.”

One by one, they each stand, naming a player on the team they want to win for. Sid’s the one who gathers them into tight huddle.

“For the Penguins,” he says.

#

They fly back to San Jose and settle into their hotel. Somehow, they have the same rooms as they did for Games 3 and 4. Sid unpacks his bag then, deciding that whether they win or lose he’ll probably forget something, repacks it.

Geno watches the whole process from Sid’s bed.

“We’re ready,” Sidney says.

“We are.”

Sid nods to himself and digs his toothbrush out. That’s easily replaceable if he accidentally leaves it in San Jose. 

#

They pack up and bring their bags to the game with them so all Sid’s fussing doesn’t even matter.

He doesn’t realize how tense he is until Duper sits next to him in the locker room. He’s one of the few people who can disturb Sid’s goalie zone and come out of it unscathed.

“I hear you’re winning me the Cup.” Duper leans back as if he’s relaxed. “I have to say, this is the easy way to do it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Duper’s facade cracks for a moment. “No, I don’t. It’s hard watching you play without me. It’d be worse to watch you lose.”

“But no pressure.”

Duper’s smile is watery. “I’ve never met anyone who thrives under pressure the way you do.”

Last season, Sid willed his team to a series win against Washington. Surely he can manage this one game tonight.

#

San Jose, still on the brink of elimination, throws everything they have at him. He fends off odd man rushes, breakaways and even an entire power play.

At the far end of the end of the ice, Jones slaps his paddle down, warning his team that the power play is about to expire. Burns loads up then unleashes a hell of a shot. Sid takes the puck to the chest protector. The puck hits the ice and he pokes it away from the traffic. Lovejoy kooks up then flings a high pass down the ice.

Shearsy, freed from the box, catches the pass and is in all alone. He fakes Jones out and scores top shelf.

1-0.

He stares, stunned for a moment, before he throws his arms up in the air and yells. The PKers, tired are a long shift, find the energy to pile their congratulations on top of him.

_ Not bad for a kid who went undrafted. _

#

Rusty’s the next to score then Geno in the dwindling seconds of a Pens power play.

It’s 3-0 in the third period, and there’s still a lot of time left on the clock, but Sid knows it doesn’t matter. His team is locked in.  _ He’s  _ locked in. San Jose won’t get anything past him.

It’s 3-0 when the Sharks pull Jones.

It’s 4-0 after an empty net by Phil.

The score doesn’t change.

Time runs out.

The horn sounds, and Geno stops fighting Pavelski for the puck. There’s a moment of silence as no one moves then the bench throws off their gear and rush Sid. He has enough time to shake off his blocker and drop his paddle before they mob him.

Flower yells in French and Kuni takes his mask off and Tazer slaps his back so hard Sid almost falls over but he doesn’t care. They  _ won _ . There’s more shouting and the huddle rocks every time someone new jumps into it.

They calm down long enough for Bettman to pass Tazer the Cup, and Sid isn’t ashamed to admit that his breath catches as Tazer roars and hoists it above his head. Tears gather in his eyes because  _ this,  _ this is the moment he clawed his way back for. The miserable months of not playing, the slow slog of getting back into shape, the doubt that he’d ever play at an elite level again.

All those people who said his best days were behind him - fuck them, he’s a Stanley Cup Champion. 

Tazer takes the Cup for a lap then passes it off. More teammates take laps. Geno’s handed the Cup and he circles the ice with it, big powerful strides before he skates right up to Sidney. Sidney reaches his hands up, touches Geno’s before he takes the Cup from him. Geno slaps him on the ass and Sid laughs as he takes the Cup with him on his lap.

He holds it high above his head, and there’s only a scattering of Pens fans in the crowd, but he knows there are thousands watching on the TV. He’s lifting it for them. He completes his lap and seeks out a familiar face. Duper starts to shake his head, but Sid passes him the Cup before he can protest.

Sid opens his mouth to say something  _ you’re one of us _ or  _ you deserve this  _ but he can’t choke out the words. Duper takes the Cup and skates before Sid embarasses himself by crying. It’s Geno he cries in front of, a few tears that leak out despite his efforts to hold him in.

“We did good,” Geno says.

He already misses holding the Cup. It’ll party with them for a while, and he’ll have his day with it, but one day doesn’t seem like enough. They battle for 365 days then, if they’re the very best in the League, they’re given one day.

There’s only one solution. He turns to Geno. “Promise me we’ll do this again next year.”

“I promise.”

“And the year after.”

“Yes.” Geno puts a finger to Sid’s lips before he can ask for the same promise for the year after that as well. “I already tell you, Sid. Penguins for life.”

“But promise me we’ll win. You always keep your promises.”

Geno huffs, amused and exasperated and a little fond. “We’ll win, Sid. Back-to-back, threepeat, whatever you want.”

Sid links their index fingers. “Let’s celebrate this one first, eh?”

They exchange a smile then join their team in chanting  _ Mr. Game One  _ as Tishy takes his lap with the Cup.


End file.
